


End of Everything

by Lizardbeth



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Gen, WIP, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-10-06
Updated: 2009-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the mission to rescue Babylon 4, a twist of fate changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue is taken directly from the episode "War without End".

Part One

"_Nothing's the same anymore_."  
\---- Commander Jeffrey Sinclair

  


The small spider-like ships held the long, cylindrical fusion bomb between them, matching the image Delenn had shown them of the transmission from Epsilon Three.

"Distance to target?" Sheridan demanded. Like a restless lion, it seemed that he couldn't remain in his command chair and sprang up again.

Marcus only needed a glance at his console to confirm what he already knew. "Still outside optimum firing range."

Susan put in, "If that thing gets any closer to Babylon 4, we risk damaging the station when it blows."

Sheridan mulled that over for a second and turned his head toward Ivanova. "Can you hit it from here?"

She looked down at her readouts. "I can try."

"Do so."

Fire streamed from the forward guns. Most of the volleys missed, as she adjusted manually for range and distance, but then one struck a small Shadow ship shepherding the bomb and the ship exploded in a puff of brilliance. The others continued on toward the station.

"Within estimated blast range," Marcus reported and looked up. "But then, so are we." From the corner of his eye he spied the serene, brown-robed figure of Entil'Zha and drew strength from it. Entil'Zha watched the actions of the officers, remaining quietly in the rear of the command deck, but Marcus knew that those keen amber eyes were analyzing everything.

"In that case," Susan said, "hold on to your socks."

Again brilliant fire trailed out of the ship as the tracers lit up the space in between. A volley struck the bomb.

White light, equal to a sun, streamed through the forward port, turning everything into a negative of itself. They all held up their hands to shield their eyes.

"Lennier, get us out of here!" Sheridan yelled.

Helpless, Lennier's hands ordered the ship to turn around. "It's too late!"

The brilliant light died away, leaving a blue-white snake of energy that crept through the bridge like something living looking for prey. For a moment, destiny teetered on the edge of a blade.... and then chose. The stream settled on Entil'Zha and before their eyes, a brilliant corona flashed around him, too bright to look at.

Ivanova saw it. "His stabilizer! It's hit!"

Delenn lunged toward him. "Jeffrey!"

"No!" Throwing an arm around her waist, Lennier caught her from plunging into the swirling energies.

Delenn struggled to free herself and reached out a hand toward the tall figure limned in light. "Jeffrey! No!"

Marcus leaped, his heart in his throat. His hand swept through the energy field -- through Entil'Zha's suddenly intangible robe-- catching nothing. In an eye blink, the man he had sworn to protect with his life vanished. One moment there-- the next, gone.

The time stabilizer crashed to the floor.

As it fragmented, it seemed to take their hopes with it. A heavy silence fell. Marcus looked up at Delenn, hoping for guidance. Delenn hung limply in Lennier's hands, staring back at Marcus -- or rather, staring at the spot where Entil'Zha had last stood. Marcus doubted she saw much of anything. Lennier didn't seem in much better shape, nor did Zathras, who blinked rapidly at the emptiness as if the entire universe had just been pulled out from under him.

"Wha -- What happened to him?" Ivanova demanded.

The sound of her voice shook Zathras into motion. The being knelt down and picked up the pieces of the stabilizer. "Time stabilizer damaged. He is unstuck in time." Zathras clicked his tongue and sighed. "Zathras warn, but no one listen to Zathras."

"What do you mean, "unstuck in time"?" Marcus demanded, anxiety making his voice high and tight. "Where is he? In the past, in the future?"

Zathras looked at him and shook his head sorrowfully. "Cannot say. Saying, I would know. Do not know, so cannot say." He looked down at the pieces in his hand and tried to fit them together. "Very damaged. Zathras cannot have anything nice."

Delenn took an urgent step forward. "We must find him."

"Later." They all looked at Sheridan as if he had gone insane. "Babylon 4--"

"-- can wait!" Marcus found that his hand was on his Minbari pike, though there were no enemies here to fight. He desperately wished for a platoon of Wind Swords or Shadows or anything he could battle to bring back Entil'Zha.

"No, it can't," Sheridan answered with the steady calm of someone who didn't know the stakes, who was outside their concerns. "The explosion sent out enough EMP to blow out their scanners for a while. We have one chance to get on board -- if we wait too long, we'll lose it."

"No," Delenn whispered. She straightened slowly and freed herself from Lennier's grasp. "You do not understand, John. We must find him."

"Sinclair understood the importance of the mission -- he'd want us to continue."

Delenn shook her head once. "We cannot continue without him."

"Why? What do you mean? Delenn, what's going on?"

"If we do not have Jeffrey, we fail." She answered heavily, and she gazed up into his eyes as if she spoke to him alone.

"But we've done the first part," Sheridan said. "All we have to do is set up the equipment on the station and let it go. Right?" When she didn't answer immediately, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "There's more to this. More than what you said."

"The station cannot go back on automatic," Delenn admitted. "Someone must take it. The one who goes..." she hesitated and finished in a voice little stronger than a whisper, "... cannot return to this time."

Ivanova squeezed her eyes shut in pained realization. "Of course. Jeff volunteered. That's so typical of him. He's never been one to let others make the sacrifices. But why can't one of us take it?"

"I will take his place," Marcus offered, right on top of her question.

Delenn shook her head, desperation giving her expression a frantic cast they had never seen before. "No, no. Jeffrey must take it back. He must." Her voice faded again, and she cast her eyes, despairing, at the site he had last stood. "Or we are all lost."

"Why?" Sheridan demanded, fed up with more riddles. "Why don't you, for once, just tell us what you know."

Delenn did not move or speak for a full minute, while the others waited. Marcus was reminded forcibly in that instant that she had once been Satai, as she coolly weighed her options. Finally she straightened her shoulders proudly. "We _know_ little. As I have said, until I came to Babylon 5, my people did not know that it was Babylon 4 which came to our rescue. But I have known for some time that Jeffrey has a great destiny. His soul is Minbari -- it is why he was chosen Entil'Zha. It is right and necessary that he take the station back."

"And Sinclair's bought into this, too?" Sheridan asked skeptically.

"John," Delenn gave him a chiding glance. "How often does the universe give us a chance to save billions of lives and a thousand years of history? Of course Jeffrey agrees."

Sheridan suddenly turned and skewered Lennier with a glare. "And you, Lennier? Would you take it, if we can't get Sinclair back?"

Lennier blinked rapidly and seemed so horrified by the question that he couldn't speak for a moment. "Captain. I -- that is, no, Captain, I cannot. It is not my place."

"But you're Minbari," Sheridan countered. "Presumably you have a Minbari soul, and as Delenn said, it's not every day that you get the chance to sacrifice yourself for the whole universe."

Lennier drew himself up proudly. "Captain, if it were my destiny, naturally I would accept. But it is not. Ambassador Sinclair has been chosen and so he must go."

Marcus realized, with a chill, that neither Delenn nor Lennier seemed eager to say anything about what would happen _after_ Entil'Zha took the station back.

"Isn't this all rather beside the point?" Ivanova interjected. "I mean, we've got to get Jeff back first. Then we can all argue about who gets to go."

"Exactly," Marcus added. "Spout all you like about destiny, but we've got to get him back. Somehow, there must be a way. Zathras, you can do it, can't you?" He heard his voice, pleading and urgent, and tried to gather himself together. Why had the Rangers never trained him for the loss of Entil'Zha? The answer to that was simple: it wasn't supposed to happen. He had sworn to stand between Entil'Zha and all danger.

"Babylon 4 is focus," Zathras said slowly, but thinking furiously. "And he is focus now, of time. There he will appear, if anywhere."

"All right," Sheridan's command tone rang through the bridge. "We're going in. We're going to get everything ready on the assumption that Sinclair will come back to B4 and Zathras can keep him there. And then we'll talk more about this. Mr. Lennier, take us in."

Lennier exchanged a glance with Delenn, who nodded. "Yes, Captain."

* * * *

Jeffrey Sinclair came back to himself with a groan. It took a minute to separate the pounding in his head from the noise in his ears, and a longer time to realize the noise was of people speaking. Even before he opened his eyes, he grasped enough to know that the language was Minbari Adronato, _ahil_ dialect, and that the unfamiliar voices were talking to him.

"Master? Entil'Zha?" A hand gingerly rested on his shoulder and shook him once. White lances of pain shot through him, and Sinclair couldn't help another groan. The hand withdrew and Sinclair forced his eyes open, before they shook him again. He saw a young, concerned female Minbari face very near his before she withdrew respectfully.

"Are you all right, Master? Gauthenn, send for a healer at once."

Sinclair looked at the gathering of the six Minbari and knew at once that he had time shifted to the distant past. To his future. The bonecrests had been filed to points in a style long since visible only in museums and temples.

"No," he raised a hand. "No healer is necessary. I'm well."

"But, Master," the young acolyte hovered near him, her face marred by worry. "you lost consciousness."

Sinclair presumed that physically he looked all right, because they were not staring at him as if he were a stranger. But he needed to see for himself, which meant he had to get rid of them all without arousing concern. "I had a vision," he announced. He was stunned by the immediate reaction. All six Minbari, including the two dressed in warrior caste robes, became expectant, even reverential.

The eldest female finally asked, "Of what, Entil'Zha?"

"I must meditate, privately, to find the meaning," he answered. They bowed to him and shortly were gone.

When Sinclair was alone, he rose from the low chair and looked around. The large room was furnished in what he had come to think of as standard Minbari design, a soft and simple elegance of cushions, spartan furniture, draping fabrics, crystals, and candles. Yet beneath the Minbari veneer he recognized the bulkheads of a Babylon 4 stateroom.

In the 'fresher he glanced at the green, flowering tendrils of the hanging plant in the unused water shower and smiled. Then he turned and faced the mirror. His smile slipped away. He had known what he would see, but it was still a shock.

Valen looked back at him.

* * * *

As he discussed the options of where to grapple onto the station with Ivanova and Lennier, Sheridan kept an eye on Delenn. She had gradually drifted forward, until she stood alone on the foredeck. Her arms were wrapped around herself, and the worry which radiated from her was almost palpable.

He shifted his gaze briefly to Susan, who had just suggested a spot. "Yes, there. Bring us in." He stood up and approached Delenn. It was hard to see her in such obvious pain. "Delenn?"

She kept her gaze on the viewscreen and her voice was distant and hollow. "This was not part of the plan. I did not expect this. We cannot even know where in time Jeffrey has gone."

Sheridan looked at her, so obviously bereft and knew he could only offer empty comforting words. "It'll be all right." He laid a hand gently on her shoulder, and fought a stab of jealousy. He hadn't known that Sinclair meant so much to her. "We'll get him back, Delenn. Somehow, I promise you."

She nodded, but said nothing more. He wished he had more to say, but in truth, he had less idea than she did about what would happen next. Sheridan squeezed her shoulder once and returned to the command seat. He caught Marcus' eyes on the way -- the Ranger looked almost as worried as Delenn. Even Ivanova, though she hid her concern better, was distressed.

He frowned as he sat down, noting Delenn had not moved.

He had barely recognized the cloaked stranger in the war room. How could someone change so much? John had tried to get reacquainted, but Sinclair was preoccupied, and his penchant for speaking like a Vorlon hadn't helped. Sheridan didn't think he was himself all that different from the Academy grunt who had harassed Jeff Sinclair the plebe, but Sinclair surely was. From the look Ivanova had given him when she saw him for the first time in almost two years, he'd obviously changed significantly in that brief time.

John had last encountered Sinclair on Mars, during the Food riots, when Sinclair had jumped into a brawl to save his fellow officer. Sheridan had been uncomfortable around him when they went to get a drink in the aftermath. He thought he'd covered it well, offering a sort of apology for Academy hazing, but it wasn't the Academy he thought of and felt guilty about when he'd looked at Sinclair. At _lieutenant commander_ Sinclair.

Sheridan had been amply rewarded for his successes in the Earth-Minbari war, while Sinclair had been stuck with make-work, desk jobs, and duties fit for a junior lieutenant. Sinclair's colleagues had been promoted into captaincies in the rebuilt fleet, while he had not progressed in rank after the Line promotion to lieutenant commander. Years of marginalization had forced him into himself, duty-bound and over-controlled, so that none could read his feelings. It was shameful treatment for a hero of the Line and a brilliant squadron commander-- but it had also made Sheridan wonder what Sinclair had done to deserve it.

Along with most of Earth Force, Sheridan had heard the rumor that somehow Sinclair was responsible for the Minbari surrender. Earthdome didn't know what had happened and many people hadn't trusted him. Only the Minbari had rescued his career from obscurity -- and that had made Earthdome even more nervous. Clark and his lackeys had known that Sinclair would resist them so they had shuffled him to Minbar, not realizing they were fulfilling destiny.

Ranger One. Entil'Zha. Whichever title he used, he was, Sheridan had heard, one of the few Humans whom Neroon actually respected, not to mention Michael Garibaldi's best friend. He was so esteemed by his Rangers he was practically revered. And now, apparently, Sinclair had gone "native" enough that he was willing to sacrifice himself to save the Minbari by bringing them their station.

Hard to believe that someone who had nearly died in combat against the Minbari and seen hundreds, thousands, of his colleagues die at Minbari hands, could change so much that fifteen years later he was willing to give up his life to save that same race.

Sheridan didn't like it, not at all. Had the Minbari somehow twisted Ambassador Sinclair, with all their talk of Entil'Zha and destiny, into doing this for them? Or had he fallen so far under the spell of their culture that he was psychologically trying to become Minbari the only way he could?

Sheridan's hands tightened around the armrests of his chair. They'd get Sinclair back from the timestream. Damned if he knew how yet, but they would. And after that, he planned to have a talk with the ambassador.


	2. Chapter 2

Ulkesh: *_He is returning to the beginning.*  
Rathenn: "...The beginning of what_?"

In Valen's quarters, Sinclair looked closely at the reflection which was not of the man he knew himself to be, but of the man he would become. Was there anything left of Jeffrey Sinclair in the Minbari features? At first, he didn't think so. Pale, hairless flesh, reset ears, a towering bonecrest, and a bony brow ridge... Even his nose was different. He was also many years older, into middle age for a Minbari. He reached up a hand and watched Valen touch his nose.

But not everything was different. His eyes were the same. And that fact more than any of the alien outer covering made it real, as nothing else had.

"It's true," he murmured in English. The words grated in his throat, which was unused to the language. "I am Valen."

Some men might have been crushed by the revelation and the knowledge of the responsibility which would be his to shoulder. But instead he bowed his head to the reflection of his future. Now he understood where he had been and where he was going. The path was clear.

He returned to the main room and ordered off the lights, leaving only the candles lit. He knelt on a cushion and prepared for a long wait. Delenn and Zathras would find a way to bring him back.

* * *

The _White Star_ settled gently on the outer hull of Babylon 4 and the cutters went to work, boring a hole and sealing it to create an umbilical cord between the two vessels. Once attached, as planned, Marcus went out to reconnoiter, with the other humans doing the same in other directions, while Delenn, Zathras, and a few other Minbari began to unload the equipment.

Marcus sneaked through the corridors, intrigued by the familiarity to Babylon 5 but also repulsed. Though of the same general design, this station was larger and had been built more extravagantly, but there was practically no one on board. He was accustomed to the crush of people of Down Below or in the Zocalo. This emptiness was disconcerting.

He ducked into the shadows as a technician went past. The emptiness also made it much easier to know when someone else was around.

As he approached more critical areas, it became harder to evade notice. There were over two thousand people on board, which was not a lot for the station's capacity, but they were all stationed in important places. It made movement very difficult. Finally he turned and started back, having seen all he needed to see.

* * *

Sheridan looked at Ivanova who had gone to find the best path to the reactor system. "Well?"

She answered, "Configuration is a little different from Babylon 5. Best guess is that way."

"Getting there isn't the hard part," Marcus said. "Getting all that equipment into position without being seen, that's going to be tough."

"I agree," Susan glanced at him then back to Sheridan. "We need to secure one of the primary corridors."

"Can you handle it?"

She hesitated then nodded, "I have an idea. But I'm going to need some help."

Marcus volunteered to join her so quickly Sheridan had the feeling he would have gone even if she'd said she wanted to scrub the fresher. It was either the attraction simmering between the two of them -- Sheridan couldn't help a smile -- or Marcus preferred action to stewing over Sinclair's fate. Or both. Sheridan faced Zathras, and his expression settled back into grim lines. "Lennier has to stay with the ship. Can you get the equipment up here by yourself?"

The odd alien nodded several times. "Yes, yes. Zathras used to being beast of burden to other people's needs. Very sad life. Probably have very sad death, but at least there is symmetry. Go," he shooed at Sheridan and Delenn, "go. Zathras take care."

Sheridan couldn't resist another brief smile then looked down at Delenn. Those beautiful depthless green eyes were still dark with worry. He squeezed her hand. "Once we're in position, Zathras will have time to get Sinclair back. But for now we've got to get ready, before their scanners go back on line."

She inhaled a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "Then, as you say, let's go."

* * *

Sinclair heard a soft chime and opened his eyes. Apparently, being unstuck in time meant he was stuck in one time, because he was still in Valen's quarters. Remembering to speak the right dialect, he ordered the lights up, and then called, "Enter."

The young acolyte who had been there when he awoke, bowed in the door. "Forgive me for intruding, Entil'Zha, but there is urgent news."

Sinclair rose to his feet and gestured her inside. "Go on."

The acolyte's discipline broke into a grin. "The Fourth Battle group is on its way back, Master. They report more than ten Shadow cruisers destroyed. It's working!"

They were winning the war. Sinclair closed his eyes, relieved. Everything was going to happen as it should, after all.

"Casualties?"

Her smile died away. "One of our cruisers, one Vorlon, several support vessels. Many of our telepaths."

Sinclair let out a sigh. Even with Vorlon help, casualties were very high, but at least the balance had swung in the other direction. It told him how unlikely victory in his present would be without the Vorlons. Fortunately, they would have Vorlon technology, if not Vorlons. Those days of arguing for the construction of the White Star fleet had been well spent.

"Entil'Zha?" the acolyte had drawn close and looked at him, in concern. "That's not so bad. Is it?"

"No," he answered. "Much better than it was. Still, we can ill afford any loss. But," he resolutely found a smile for her and buried his concerns for the distant future, "for now, we'll enjoy our victory. Make the arrangements for a celebration when the group arrives."

She hesitated and asked, in a tone of mixed surprise and hope, "You'll be there?"

There was a wealth of information in that question that told him too much. Was Valen so isolated that she would be surprised that he would come? Was Valen so revered that his mere presence would overshadow the victorious warriors?

"Yes," he answered. He had a sudden, overpowering need to see the station. The last time he had been here was when the station was practically deserted, and he wanted to see crowds and activity. "Come; let's share the news."

"But, Entil'Zha, security --"

"On my own station?" He moved to the door and beckoned her to follow. "Come. Joy and sorrow should both be shared with others."

Then, with a slightly puzzled acolyte at his heels, he left his quarters. The warriors on either side of his door started in surprise and swiftly moved to follow. One of them murmured into his comm, no doubt reporting that Valen was on the move and he needed better security.

Sinclair smiled, refusing to pay any attention and let it disturb his mood now. The Alliance had won a victory against the Shadows -- in this time, or any other, it was something to celebrate. As he walked the corridors, with the smaller acolyte at his side, everyone he met nodded in formal acknowledgment. It was not too different from the respect he had received from the Rangers, which he had long since accepted as something he couldn't change.

A casual observer would not have known the station was at war. The main corridor he traveled was in perfect condition, spotlessly clean, in a similar design to those in Babylon 5's blue and green sector residential areas. He noticed two main changes, smiling inwardly: the lights had all been replaced with glowing crystals and all the lettering had been replaced on the signs.

But a close observer would have seen the signs of strain and ongoing war. Some of the new lettering had not been placed permanently and was falling off, the Minbari he saw were tense, everyone carried a weapon regardless of caste, and almost immediately after emerging from his quarters one of the warriors who had been inside earlier found him.

The large male, who had Neroon's height but a thin, bony face, "Entil'Zha, I assume Lauenn told you about the Fourth Battle group?"

Fortunately the warrior looked at the acolyte and Sinclair realized that Lauenn was her name. "Yes, she did. I've called for a celebration when they return."

The warrior made a dismissive gesture and held up two flimsies. "Certainly, Master, it would be good for morale. But I've just received these reports from the Azhri sector, which you must see."

Sinclair took the sheets and examined them. It was a good thing that the Minbari had kept _ahil_-Adronato so unchanged, or else he would never been able to understand the sheets. Reading the reports gave him a moment to figure out what to do now. Destined to be a warleader or not, he couldn't give any orders without some more information, or his future self would have to undo his mistakes.

The warrior prompted, "Shall I call a war council, Entil'Zha?"

"Yes, I'll be there directly."

The warrior bowed his head and strode off.

Lauenn looked at the flimsies in his hand and she bit her lip. "Bad news always comes with good, doesn't it?"

"Sometimes it seems that way," he acknowledged. "But Lauenn, your news is much better than this is bad. You have my full authority to proceed with the victory celebration. Do whatever you think would be appropriate."

Her eyes grew round with excited pride and she clasped her hands together tightly. "Thank you, Master. I will not disappoint you."

"Just welcome the victors home," he smiled down at her. "That will please me enough. But Lauenn," he couldn't help teasing her a little, "nothing _too _extravagant, all right?"

She grinned back, a bit shyly, as if unsure that the mighty Valen could really be teasing her.

Suddenly the edges of his vision frayed, and he flung out a desperate hand to the acolyte's shoulder to keep himself upright.

"Entil'Zha?" She turned to look at his face and her own grew alarmed. "You are not well."

He was floating, not all of him seemed to be present in his body, and for a moment, there were two of them.

A voice -- his own -- spoke with greater authority, "No, Lauenn. This is not... unexpected. It will pass."

Then, for Sinclair, everything vanished.

* * *

Marcus stood on the overturned crate and held up the box of equipment so that Susan could grab it. There was a lot to set up, more than he would have expected -- though how he could possibly have an accurate expectation of the equipment needed to move a five-mile-long station through time was questionable.

Having one of the primary corridors blocked off by the simple expedient of an artificial hull breach had helped immensely. Now it was just the physical task of moving the equipment from the _White Star_ to the staging area, before beginning the more delicate work of assembling the devices which would have to be attached to the reactor core.

He spied Zathras down the corridor tinkering with a blue e-suit, instead of working on the devices for the system as he should. The sight annoyed him. "Do you think you could lend us a hand?"

The odd alien shook his head and didn't look up. "No, no. Very busy. Zathras has idea. Saw him, Zathras did."

A chill ran up Marcus' spine. Entil'Zha had been here. If he had come back once, he could come back again.

Then Zathras had to spoil his hope, when he added, "So Zathras thinks. Perhaps power supply in suit will help activate time stabilizer. Will not last though. Then he will be lost again." He made a final adjustment and moved back, with a decisive, bouncing nod of his head. "There, finished. Now we wait."

Without another word, he walked past Susan, dropped into the _White Star_, brushing against Marcus as he went, and disappeared below.

Marcus looked up to meet her gaze and found a grin. "He's quite mad, you know. He actually thinks Entil'Zha's going to materialize in there."

She returned his smile, with a rueful one of her own. "Marcus, we're stealing a station to fight in a war that ended a thousand years ago. We're all mad."

He had to nod. It was rather absurd when she put it like that.

"You know, I've been thinking," Ivanova mused as she set the box to the side and stopped to regard him with an intent gaze. "I don't like the idea of Jeff doing this. Not one bit."

"I don't either," Marcus admitted. "But he has his reasons, Susan." He remembered his last conversation with Entil'Zha before going to Zagros 7 and the sorrow that still lurked in his mentor's eyes. "He wants to find Catherine. I'm sure that's part of it. He's hoping that she'll be there, on the other side."

Susan shook her head impatiently. "That's all very romantic, Marcus, but think about it more logically. What's _really_ going to be on the other side?" She answered the question herself. "A bunch of very tense, less civilized Minbari. Are they really going to accept a strange alien and his even stranger station in the middle of a war?"

Marcus fell silent as he thought about it. The question had been worrying at the back of his mind since Delenn had told him what Entil'Zha intended to do, but he hadn't been able to identify what his instincts disliked. Minbari in a desperate war would not take kindly to an alien who spoke their language and appeared out of nowhere, station or no station.

"I'm sure Entil'Zha and Delenn have already figured this out," he said finally. "They've got a plan. They're just not telling us what it is."

"Yeah, I think that's what worries me the most." She glanced down at her hands and traced invisible circles in the floor to gather her thoughts. "Jeff and Delenn are a lot alike, Marcus. Neither of them thinks about themselves when other lives are at stake. I'm worried that their plan is for Jeff to take himself out of the way somehow, so the Minbari will accept the station. Maybe even kill himself," she added more softly. "And that's just not right."

He reached up and put his hand over hers. Her hand turned over to clasp his tightly. "I'm sure that's not what they're planning, Susan."

But he wasn't sure, not at all. Entil'Zha had never been the most talkative of people, but on the trip he had been more silent than usual, wrapped up in his own thoughts. There was something in Entil'Zha's gaze which Marcus had never seen before -- the peace of an irrevocable decision, or the surrender to a path of little choice.

Clearly, Entil'Zha believed that he had to take Babylon 4 back in time. Maybe he was doing it to save lives, or maybe he was doing it because it might be his only chance to find his time-lost fiancee, but in either case, Marcus suspected that Ivanova was right; Entil'Zha would do what he believed had to be done regardless of any cost to himself.

It was admirable and it was what he taught every Ranger to do. And yet, Marcus couldn't help but think that in this case it was also terribly selfish. The _present_ needed Entil'Zha, the Rangers needed him, and now he intended to abandon them to do something that anyone could do.

Interrupting his thoughts, he thought he saw one of the arms of the e-suit twitch. He stared, at first unsure he was seeing anything.

Ivanova turned to follow his gaze, and the figure made a more decisive movement of his legs.

"Jeff!"

He was only two steps behind her as they rushed there, and helped take the helmet off. With a great sigh of relief, he saw that it was Sinclair.

"Entil'Zha, are you all right?" he asked anxiously. Ranger One seemed fine, though at first disoriented. He blinked and identified Marcus and Susan standing in front of him.

He put a gloved hand to his head then let out a sigh. "I think so, Marcus. A bit of a headache, but I'm okay." He put out a hand, which Ivanova took to help him to his feet. Marcus just looked at him, glad he was back. It wasn't right that Entil'Zha planned to sacrifice his life for people who had been dead a thousand years -- not when there were millions who depended on him in the here and now.

Down the corridor, he heard approaching footsteps and put his hand on his pike, until he was sure who it was.

"Where's Sheridan?" Sinclair asked.

"Right here," Sheridan and Delenn came around the corner. Sheridan had put on a blue e-suit like Entil'Zha's. The captain held out his hand which Sinclair took. "Welcome back, Ambassador. How was your trip?"

The corners of Entil'Zha's mouth turned upward slightly. It was an expression all Rangers knew well, as meaning he wasn't going to say very much. "Illuminating." He glanced at Marcus. "What's our status?"

Marcus answered, "We've secured a path to the central power core. We're ready to proceed."

Sheridan invited, "Ready?"

Sinclair gestured for Sheridan to precede him down the corridor.

Delenn approached Sinclair, and Marcus was suddenly on alert when they spoke in Adronato. "Jeffrey, _su sa_?" Are you all right?

"_Iza_." Fine, he answered, and leaned closer to her to say more softly, "_Vennesa na' fallen_." I know what's coming.

For a moment, Marcus saw grief overwhelm her features, but sorrow passed and was replaced by the same acceptance that Entil'Zha wore.

"_Petrosh_," she murmured. I'm sorry.

"_Nemosh na_." Don't be. He comforted her with one of his rare, true smiles, then added, "For the first time in my life, the path is clear." Then he left her and followed after Sheridan.

Marcus stared after him. No. This was all wrong. This couldn't be the true destiny of Entil'Zha, not after all he had done. The universe was unfair, but it couldn't be this unjust. There had to be some way to stop this.

But as the minutes and hours flickered past while the group readied the station, no brilliant idea came to him.


	3. Chapter 3

"_A half-truth is worse than a lie_."  
\-- Entil'Zha

John Sheridan desperately wanted to scratch his nose. He knew the only reason he wanted to was because he absolutely couldn't, but it didn't help his growing frustration. He was putting in his third hour in his e-suit, and it didn't seem as if they were getting anywhere.

Attaching the devices for the time jump system was delicate work, made more difficult by their e-suits and the microgravity in the reactor core chamber. He glanced to the figure next to him, where Sinclair's face was visible in the glow of his hand welder, and Sheridan grimaced. Sinclair didn't seem to be having any difficulty. His expression was calm and focused on his task.

Through the hours, he had tried to make light conversation, only to find Sinclair vague and preoccupied. But now, the captain was bored enough to prod just a little harder.

"Ambassador?" He waited until Sinclair answered before continuing, "Could I ask you something?"

Sinclair's voice echoed in his ears through the comm. "Certainly."

"What happened when you were gone? Where did you go? When?"

"The past." There was a long silence and Sheridan thought that was all the answer he was going to get.

But Sinclair continued, while he carefully reattached the welder to his belt. "It gave me a lot to think about. We all make choices in what we do. But now, I see where all my choices have led me, and I wonder if any of them were really choices at all."

Sheridan held up the next device and slowly slid it into place. As he twisted the large-headed bolts through to hold it on, he commented, "You're talking about destiny. I've never held much stock in the concept, myself."

"I didn't either," Sinclair responded. "I've had more than one argument with the Minbari about it."

"Didn't?" Sheridan repeated. "But now you do?"

"Free will is only useful when you have something to choose."

"And you don't think you have a choice about taking this station back in time, do you?"

His voice inflectionless, Sinclair said, "It can't go back without someone to guide it."

"So why you? I don't know everything you're up to as Ranger One, but I know it's important. What happens when you're gone?"

"The Rangers know what to do."

"But can't someone else shepherd this thing?"

Sinclair paused and turned so Sheridan could see the deep, somber eyes behind his faceplate. "Others can take my place as Ranger One. But no one else can do this, Captain."

Sheridan felt a cold finger of apprehension travel his spine. There was something eerie about Sinclair's unshakable conviction. "You're very sure of that."

"Yes, I am."

"But you don't want to go," Sheridan guessed.

"I'm..." Sinclair paused to pick the right word, "... reluctant to face the end of that journey. I know what it is, and I'm not sure I'm ready for it."

"I couldn't do it," Sheridan admitted. He locked down his mechanism and then went to help Sinclair with a long coil of cabling that had gotten tangled somehow. "I couldn't leave behind everything I know, to go back in the depths of time. On the say-so of -- what, a video clip of this station a thousand years ago?"

"Not even to save millions, perhaps billions, of lives in the present?" Sinclair returned. "Remember this isn't just about the Minbari of the past needing the station, Captain. If they don't have it, a thousand years will be much darker, and a lot of people are going to die in our present shadow war. You could do it. We both understand that one person's life is of small account when balanced with so many others."

On the bridge of the _White Star_ Susan and Marcus shared a glance as it confirmed what they suspected.

"This is my path while I'm on it," Sinclair continued, his gloved hands groping through the knotted cabling, "This is the twisted course all of my choices have made, or so it seems. But in the end... It's very simple. All the choices fall away to one." With a gentle tug, the nest of cabling pulled free into a single line.

The end of it sailed to Sheridan, who grabbed it. He chuckled. "Now that was a fortunate coincidence." Then he remembered the conversation in the shuttle cabin and held up a hand. "I know, I know. 'There are no coincidences.'"

Sinclair's rather enigmatic smile was answer enough, but he added lightly, "I'll make a Ranger of you yet."

Ivanova's voice cut in over the comm speakers in both their helmets and reported. "Captain, I just finished rigging the scanners on B4 to detect a phony alert in the fusion reactor. It'll make it look like the whole place is going critical. That should encourage the crew to evacuate so we can move this thing."

Sheridan answered, "Roger that." End of the cable still in hand, he jetted forward toward the device, which looked amazingly like a carbuncle on the smooth side of the massive reactor shielding.

A bright spark jumping from the tachyon polarizer to the homing device housing was their only warning.

"Sheridan --!" Sinclair shouted and John felt himself yanked hard by the cable in his hands. Lightning skittered all along the core, brilliant coruscating energies that seemed to follow him as the force of the pull started him winging back toward Sinclair.

A brighter, white light flashed from the time-travel system, which would have been blinding except for his shaded visor. An incredible force suddenly grabbed him and threw him back, and he didn't realize it was an explosion until he was tumbling out of control. The inner surface of the core chamber whirled, too fast for him to get an idea of direction. He closed his eyes against the dizziness.

Then the wave of tachyons hit, trailing other energies, and the universe seemed to turn inside out. Nausea gripped him and he devoted all his energy to not vomiting.

After a moment that seemed to drag for an eternity, the wave stopped. When he opened his eyes again, he was still tumbling out of control, but at least the universe seemed to have stabilized. Remembering his EVA training, long hours in a simulator at the academy before he was permitted real space walks, he delicately used his suit jets to bring himself to a relative stop.

He found, to his momentary amusement, that he was still clutching the end of the cable with which Sinclair had so ably demonstrated his life's lesson. Sinclair had probably saved him from injury, if not death, by yanking him away from the homing device. But since he had pulled Sheridan back, Sinclair would have gone forward, into the explosion.

There was no one holding the other end of the cable when Sheridan gathered it up in a neat coil. In fact, near as he could see -- and in the cavernous reactor chamber that was a long way -- Sinclair was nowhere.

Since the explosion had not been powerful enough to obliterate every trace of him, it very likely had undone whatever had kept him stabilized in this time, sending Sinclair back into the timestream.

The explosion had not destabilized the core, or he wouldn't still be alive, but it might have obliterated the time-travel homing system they had been so painstakingly constructing.

He jetted for a closer look.

"Captain?" he heard the concerned voice of Ivanova. "Ambassador? Can you hear me?"

"Sinclair's gone again," he answered and as his suit lights fell on the time device, he saw the damage. The upper stabilizer cone looked melted and charred. "And we have a new problem..."

* * *

Sinclair felt the time energies swirl around him again and rough hands yank him out of the present. As the brilliance filled his mind, he tried to prepare himself.

He opened his eyes and dizziness struck. He closed his eyes again, but he had seen enough in his glimpse to tell him a little. He was not on Babylon 4, in any time, but looked to be in a small craft in deep space.

The second attempt at opening his eyes was less confusing and he was able to place himself. He was seated in the pilot's chair of a Minbari Flyer, and after a quick check knew he was still near the present time. The semi-reflective surface of the console gave back a watery image of Jeffrey Sinclair.

But how was that possible? He felt his head, felt the hair, just to confirm what he saw. He wasn't in his own past, because he had never sat in the pilot's chair of a Flyer, but it couldn't be the future, because he would have no opportunity to pilot a Flyer before he took B4 back in time.

A dull cold feeling seized his heart. This had to be his future, which meant something would go terribly wrong with the mission in the present. Unless... He smiled. Of course. The hopeful thought suddenly occurred to him that this could be a vision from the alternate future of Ivanova's warning.

"Computer, what is the date?"

The answer came back in Minbari terms but he translated effortlessly. September 9, 2262.

He sank back in his chair, worried. A bit more than two years from "now" and the prophesied destruction of Babylon 5 in Ivanova's alternate future. Could that false timeline really continue so far forward?

A quick look proved he was alone on the Flyer, so he tried to get answers from the computer. "Current location and heading?"

The warm Minbari voice answered, "Grid Epsilon, heading Sector 14."

His head snapped up in surprise. That was not what he had expected. "Computer, full sensor sweep of Grid Epsilon. List any ships, stations, and anomalies within range."

"Minbari cruiser _Trilevi_, Minbari cruiser _Naya_. One anomaly categorized as disruption of space-time."

The omission wasn't a surprise, but he had to ask. "And Babylon 5?"

"Babylon 5 was destroyed in 2260."

Sinclair shut his eyes. More painful than the realization that he had failed, was knowing that he had broken his promise to Garibaldi. Michael was dead, murdered by the Shadows, and it was because of Sinclair. Another one lost, just like Catherine...

When the temporal rift opened, he stared at it, as a sudden, wild hope bloomed in his chest. Could this be why he was here? "Computer, isolate scanners on rift. Search for spacecraft."

The computer acknowledged. He watched the screen avidly, hoping for a ship to emerge from the dark disk inside the distortion field. Just one glimpse of her ship, to know that she was okay, would make the past few months worthwhile. But the rift remained stubbornly empty. He leaned heavily back in his chair and tried to push away the loss, as his hope withered. What did it matter really? If she did come back in 2262, he would be long gone, and this time there would be no way for her to follow.

He shook his head as the thorns of time paradox snagged his mind. Catherine was gone, but there was still Michael, Delenn, Susan, and so many others who were going to have to live in the future after he had left it. It was up to him to find out as much as he could to carry back to them and prevent this nightmare of the station's destruction.

However, the computer refused to provide him with details other than the date of its destruction, which he already knew from Ivanova's mayday. He almost opened a channel to the Minbari cruisers hovering half a sector away, but decided he shouldn't. He was out here alone for a purpose, and he needed to discover what that was.

When Babylon 4 reappeared within the distortion, his relief was so strong that he felt giddy. Now he could go in and discover what had happened.

He cycled the engines and the small Flyer moved forward. The ship nudged forward and the nose of the ship entered the distortion field. But when the distortion field touched the cockpit he felt the energies grab hold of him again. "No!" he screamed and willed himself to stay. With every fiber of his being, he tried to hold himself in that time. But there was nothing to grab...

Brutal force wrapped around him, ignoring his cry. Pain flared in his head like a spike in the skull, and the brightness dimmed and turned to dark.

His last thought was that, once again, he had failed.

* * *

Delenn climbed up through the hole in the floor into the station. Jeffrey was gone again, and John had said there was damage to the homing system. Others might have considered the mission close to failure, but she was calm. The damage was repairable, though it would cost them time. And as for Entil'Zha, he would return. She had faith in the universe and in the circularity of Jeffrey's destiny. Everything would end all right.

She felt the station spin around her, and suddenly, she was...

... _elsewhere_...

Her quarters on Babylon 5. All her familiar things were around her, and yet she felt odd -- strangely disconnected from what she saw and from her body. The sensation was akin to telepathically seeing through someone else's eyes. She could see, and vaguely feel what the other felt, but she had no control over anything.

The strangest part of the experience was knowing the other was also Delenn.

Her quarters were dim, lit only by five candles including three in her meditation area. Obviously Delenn had been praying. She felt Delenn's anxiety as a faint echo, but sensed no thoughts. She didn't know if she had come to past, future, or alternate version of herself. This moment could easily be the past, though she had no clear memory of leaving her prayers to pace anxiously.

The chime on her door announced a visitor.

Strange, to hear her own voice call, "Enter," and turn to face the entrance without willing her body to do so.

The door opened and a tall, cloaked figure stood silhouetted in the doorway before stepping forward into the dimness.

Jeffrey Sinclair's warm, gentle voice said, "Delenn...."

Abruptly the sight and sound of him, all sight and all sound, spun crazily and went dark. She lost sense of that other Delenn. But she didn't lose the sense of her own fear, even as her surroundings reformed into the corridor of Babylon Four. Lennier had one hand on her arm, supporting her as the dizziness subsided.

Had it been real at all? Even as she answered Lennier's concerned questions, her thoughts were focused entirely on the question of whether it had been real. She knew that Sinclair had never entered her Babylon Five quarters wearing his Entil'Zha cloak in reality. Perhaps she was merely glimpsing fragments of what-might-have-beens.

Still flustered, she faced Zathras. "What was that?"

"Time flash," he answered. "See yourself, forward or backward in time. Zathras told you. System unstable."

But if this were truly forward in her time, how could Sinclair be there? Heavy footsteps and Ivanova's cry of "Captain!" interrupted her troubled thoughts. She glanced up and, as always, her heart lightened at the sight of John.

"John, are you all right?" she asked anxiously, checking him for damage.

"Fine, but we lost Sinclair again, just as the field went up. We've got to get him back permanently." He turned to look at Zathras. "Is there any way you can fix his time stabilizer?"

Zathras was not as positive as Delenn would have preferred. "I... have components, but I need equipment. Careful, delicate work."

Ivanova offered, "I saw a work area when we were out earlier. Maybe they've got what you need there."

"Then get going," Sheridan ordered. Ivanova nodded and practically dragged Zathras around the corner. Delenn wondered what had happened in the core or in his own time flash, because John seemed to have a greater sense of urgency than before. Perhaps he was merely picking up the anxiety of the others. "I'll go back in the power core with the spare and see if we can stabilize this thing. Marcus, I'll need you and the rest to stay with the _White Star_ and monitor the readings. Tell me when it's ready. We've got one last shot at this, let's make the best of it."

He clomped away in his heavy boots and Delenn watched him go. Was she wrong not to tell the rest of them the full truth about Sinclair? True, they didn't need to know, and it might distract them, when they needed to be focused on their task. But still, perhaps it would be better to know what they were really fighting for.

No, she decided. There would be plenty of time for the final revelation after Jeffrey was gone. He didn't want them to know -- that much had been obvious in his conversation with Sheridan when he could have said something. She would respect his wishes.

They would have to be content with her harmless half-truth.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Destiny cannot be mocked. What must be, will be...   
Our pebbles cannot turn the tide_."  
\-- from _Annals of the Fire: the Journal of Jeffrey Sinclair_

On the _White Star_, Marcus watched the readouts carefully, and when Sheridan's voice came over the comm to ask how it looked, he answered, "Readings are still unstable."

He kept back his opinion that at this rate it would take a day for them to stabilize the homing device. It had taken an hour just for Sheridan to replace the damaged cone, and the tedious power flow adjustment and tuning was going to drive them all mad with waiting.

Lennier spoke up suddenly, "Captain Sheridan, I'm picking up something on our external scanners. Reading six... no, seven ships, coming this way."

"Any idea who they are?" Sheridan asked.

"Actually yes," Lennier answered. "I believe they are the ships that Commander Sinclair brought in response to Babylon 4's distress signal."

"I read about that," Sheridan replied. "Make sure they don't see us."

"Of course," Lennier answered.

Marcus glanced at the external view as one shuttlecraft headed into the distortion field ahead of the rest and approached the station. Strange, to think that Entil'Zha, before he became Entil'Zha, was out there, with no idea yet of what happened to him today.

_Please, Valen_, he tossed the prayer out into the ether. _Bring him back and give me some way to stop him from going back in time._

There was no answer, of course.

Not long after, Susan contacted the _White Star_ to report another problem.

"They got Zathras. How are the repairs going?"

He couldn't answer right away. If B4 security had Zathras, that meant he couldn't finish Entil'Zha's stabilizer. Finally Marcus roused to reply, "Slowly. We may have it in another couple hours." That was, unfortunately, a rather optimistic assessment.

"That's too long," Ivanova said. "What if I could adjust the power from C&amp;C?"

"Great. If you can get there." It would help immensely, since it would allow Sheridan to concentrate on tuning. The repairs would go much faster if the captain didn't need to worry about the power flow.

"I can do it. I just gotta be careful." Then, in a lower voice she added quickly, "Got company." The channel closed.

Delenn, sitting in the command chair, let the conversation wash over and through her. The only thing she knew was that it was taking too long. Draal couldn't keep the rift open forever. If it closed while Entil'Zha were still timelost, everything from Valen's time to the present would be changed. The present would be destroyed, and billions of lives would be lost in a galaxy in which the Shadows were stronger.

She fingered her time stabilizer thoughtfully.

What was one life balanced against billions? Jeffrey had said it himself, one life was of little account.

She slipped from the chair and left the command deck. Though everyone noticed, no one said anything.

A little while later, in the corridor of Babylon 4, near the White Star, a blue suited figure shimmered into view and collapsed onto the crate in the corner at the end of the corridor. He didn't move.

Delenn moved forward on swift, light feet. She held out her hand and tapped his shoulder. He didn't stir.

That was good. She knew Jeffrey would protest what she planned to do.

Fingers moving deftly, she released the helmet and pulled it off. The hiss of escaping air covered her gasp. He had aged. In the hours he had been unstuck in time, he seemed to have aged five years, with grey at his temples and lines at the corners of his eyes which had not been there before. It gave even more importance to her task, since she suspected that the aging affect would grow stronger the longer he was lost.

Her touch feather-light, she brushed two fingers down his scarred cheek. Why was he always the one to pay the price?

His eyelids fluttered and she drew back her hand, waiting. He didn't wake.

She unfastened the throat latch of the suit and tugged apart the seals down the front. Focused on her task, she didn't see his eyes open.

"Delenn, what are you doing?"

"Jeffrey!" she pulled back her hands quickly and her gaze flew up to his. "You startled me."

His eyes narrowed as he took in what she was doing. "Why are you taking off my suit?"

It was amazing, she thought in the back of her mind -- he made her feel exactly like an acolyte at Dukhat's feet again. She was older than Sinclair, she had been Satai, yet she felt like a child caught at mischief.

"I thought to --" she started to answer then stopped. She couldn't lie, but she was not going to speak the truth either.

"You were planning to trade places," he continued for her. "And you wanted to do it while I was out, because you knew I'd never let you while I was awake. Well, you were right." He tried to stand, but fell back against the wall, and his face tightened against pain.

"Jeffrey, this is damaging you," she tried her most persuasive tone. "Zathras is attempting to fix your stabilizer, but he may not have time. You may be lost permanently."

"That won't happen," he told her with annoying calm.

"You cannot know that."

"I have seen --"

"The future is not definite," she interrupted forcefully. "Whatever you've seen may not happen." The future could not be immutable, or her own vision would come true, and she had to avoid that at all costs.

"I know you're worried, but --"

"No!" she exclaimed. He was deliberately refusing to understand the seriousness of the situation. "I am not "worried", I am frightened. You may be forever lost in time. What then happens to the rest of us?" He drew back, in unconscious avoidance of the fate she mentioned. She pulled herself together and gentled her tone. He was not so accepting as he seemed. "You know how vital you are. We have not discussed it, but you know the truth. You cannot risk yourself."

His gaze snapped back to hers and his eyes seemed to glint amber. "Do you know how I hate that phrase?" he demanded. "Almost from the moment I stepped on Minbar I have heard people tell me that, that I can't risk myself. But some risks are necessary." With a hand pressed against the wall, he levered himself to his feet.

"This is not one of them," she said firmly. Why was he being so difficult? He knew what was at stake. On the chance that he was worried for her -- and she knew Jeffrey would risk himself instead of someone he cared about every time -- she added, "What I propose is not so dangerous to me. Zathras will fix the stabilizer. But if he can not, then that is a small price to pay for your safety."

She gave an inward wince, right after the words left her mouth. That had been the wrong tactic. He straightened and looked at her, irritation swept away in favor of somber affection. "Not to me," he answered softly. "You are not less important or less worthy, Delenn. You have a destiny too. I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me." He picked up his helmet from the crate.

She watched in silence, knowing she had run out of words. Only action remained. He watched her for a long moment, then nodded, as if to thank her for not trying to prevent him anymore.

Her hand moved slowly, subtly, to the stabilizer at her waist, while he resealed the front of his suit. She had the stabilizer in the palm of her hand when he closed the throat latch, and the instant he had both hands on his helmet, ready to put it on, she acted.

She darted forward, hand outstretched to clip the stabilizer on his belt. But in one smooth motion, as if he held a pike, he brought the helmet down, deflecting her hand, and stepped backward out of her immediate reach.

From about two paces apart, they eyed each other, equally determined on their course. Inwardly she permitted herself a curse -- it was easy to look at him and forget that Entil'Zha studied _both_ religious and warrior disciplines. She had forgotten that this outwardly calm and spiritual man could fight Neroon to a standstill.

He gave a little shake and asked abruptly, "It's 2258, isn't it? The station moved forward when I was gone."

"Yes," she answered, puzzled. "How did you know?"

But he didn't directly answer. There was an odd, distracted cast to his expression as if he were listening hard to a whispered conversation. "I'm here, aren't I?" he murmured. "Garibaldi and I are here, on the station. I can feel it." He shuddered visibly, and his expression cleared and focused on her. "You see, Delenn, that's why I can't let you be unstuck. You have nothing to draw you back here. But I'm already here -- even now I feel a sort of pulling..." The glazed expression passed across his face again and he murmured. "Michael's here... I remember..."

She took one step toward him, and his gaze instantly flashed on her and he stepped back equal distance. "No, Delenn. I know what I have to do. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"How can I not worry?" she retorted. But she knew there was no way now to prevent him. "You are doing something unwise."

"Humans are good at that," he answered lightly, accepting her capitulation. Then more seriously, he added, "Have faith, old friend." In a single motion he popped the helmet over his head and sealed it.

There were no external speakers on the suit, and she did not have a comlink, but he gave her a "thumbs up" sign with his gloved hands. Though her insides seemed hollow with dread, she managed a tiny smile.

In the space of a blink, he was gone.

Momentarily alone, she squeezed her hands together trying to disperse her anxiety. He was right. She had to have faith. The universe had plans for Jeffrey Sinclair, so the universe would make sure he had the opportunity to follow hem.

But the vision of him entering her quarters wouldn't leave her mind. She still had the chill feeling of impending disaster.

* * *

Sinclair took the sight of Delenn's face with him as the eddies of time sucked him in. It was definitely worse this time, as a feeling of a thousand shards of ice pierced his body. He gritted his teeth, holding on to relief that Delenn was not experiencing this. Delenn had suffered enough for the cause that he would spare her this, which hurt no less for being unreal.

The sensation passed and his vision cleared. He saw open space outside a cockpit. The scene was so familiar he needed no time to identify it, as horror swept away pain. No, not again... Almost fifteen years later, he still had nightmares about the Battle of the Line.

He shut his eyes, denying what he saw, but he still saw it as crisply in memory as reality. The canopy of his Starfury, facing a huge Minbari war cruiser, exploding ships all around...

This time he welcomed the wrench of the transition, as Mitchell's final cries rang in his ears....

He caught just a glimpse of Babylon 4 and two startled technicians before time caught him again.

Ranger training hall, Minbar. Light streamed through the narrow windows at the top of the walls, and he saw Durhan across their pikes. As Durhan started into the _li'fan'tafa_ attack, he automatically countered with _zighral_. Only after Durhan was on the ground with a look of dumbfounded shock on his face, did Sinclair realize that the moment was from his early training, before he was supposed to know _zighral_.

He was shoved out of the moment, and into another.

Babylon 4 again, this time some kind of equipment lab. The worker there dropped the tool in her hand and slapped her link, "Asmaran to Security. We have an intruder in lab delta. Blue e-suit--"

He left before he got to hear the rest of the description.

Dizzy and nauseous, with a pounding in his head, he opened his eyes with welcome relief. He sat on a bench in the midst of peaceful gardens and bright sunshine, with the scent of flowers in the air -- it was the herb garden of the monastery in France where he had spent two months of leave before being recalled for his Babylon 5 assignment. He had been so frustrated, he remembered. His career had hit a wall, but he couldn't imagine leaving Earth Force. He wanted something more, but he didn't know what it was.

Sinclair wished there was some way to tell his earlier self that he would find a purpose to his life, a purpose that encompassed the galaxy.

But even if there had been a way to leave a message, he didn't have time to think of it before the unfeeling river of time spun him away.

His eyes were open, but everything was still spinning. He crashed to his knees and looked at the grey smear under them until it solidified and came into focus as a metal deckplate. Then it blurred again. His head throbbed, making it hard to think, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

He lifted his head to look around. He was definitely back on B4, in a main corridor not far from the shuttle bay. He also had six PPG rifles pointed in his direction from the security guards standing in a loose semicircle around him. He still wasn't sure what exactly was happening until Major Krantz, Zathras, himself, and Garibaldi came into view around the corner.

He found his gaze glued to the younger version of himself. Was that really him? Who was that person, so neat, so correct and overcontrolled in his Earth Force uniform? It was like looking at a vid of someone else, since he wasn't that person anymore. But it was unnerving to look at his own face and know the thoughts behind those eyes. So determined to do everything right.

Behind him, Garibaldi. His friend. Michael had never really understood why Sinclair valued him so much. This was Garibaldi before Jack had shot him, nearly killed him--

Here was the moment he could never have given to Delenn. He struggled to one knee and tried to shout, "Michael!" But he couldn't find the breath to do more than whisper. He panted, while bright flashes darted across his eyes.

His suit had no external speakers. Michael would never hear him from so far away. He held out an imploring hand for Michael to come closer -- but his earlier self came closer instead, walking as if drawn.

Shudders wracked him as the commander approached. The pulling force strengthened to unbearable. He fought it, knowing what was going to happen. He could see his own face, vacant as if tranced, then the other Sinclair held out his hand to touch him.

The reaction was immediate, as the universe decided two identical objects could not take up the same place in time. Forces ruptured, and Commander Sinclair flew backwards into a stack of cartons. The Earth Force officers rushed after him, leaving Sinclair momentarily unobserved. Zathras dashed forward, helped him to stand, and pressed the stabilizer into his hands. "Zathras fixed. Take. Hurry."

He nodded his thanks, but his gaze went past him to Garibaldi -- if only Michael could hear his warning... He walked one step toward him, but never completed the motion.

The grip of time seemed gentler this time as it gathered him close and he floated into a new awareness.

This place was nowhere he had ever been. It was dim, lit only by candles and pale, directionless light, though he was standing in the focus of several spotlights. At first he thought he was outside, since the dark space around him was vast and the light had a soft, moonlight quality, but then his eyes adjusted and he saw it truly.

He stood alone in the middle of a silent crowd in an immense round theater or hall. There were three tiers stretching back into darkness which his eyes couldn't penetrate and climbing to a cathedral ceiling. He saw mostly Minbari, with some Narns and Centauri, in numbers so large as to be nearly meaningless, around him. They were all looking at him, in eerie, frightening silence. Some of them were kneeling or bowing.

He realized where he was. He had never been inside, but this could be no place other than the Temple of Veranni on Minbar.

He didn't want to see this, didn't want to know about the thousands of people watching him in devotion, didn't want this future. But he knew it was inevitable; without devotion, Valen would never have been able to accomplish everything he had and make it last a thousand years.

But this -- God, this was making him sick.

He turned slowly and his gaze swept the crowd again, finding the significant fraction of non-Minbari in the audience a bit odd. He knew Valen and G'Quan had met, that much was written in the Book of G'Quan, so a few Narns were not unexpected, but Abbai? There were definitely two Abbai kneeling near the front of the first balcony. The Abbai had not been involved in the last Great War at all, so far as he knew.

And were those Humans?

Oblivion drew itself across his eyes before he could be certain. As the gentle cobwebs of time settled into place, he decided he must have been wrong, mistaking Centauri for Humans.

He recognized the shuttle bay airlock on B4. He felt clearer headed, and not about to float away at any moment, so he presumed the stabilizer was working and he was on the station to stay.

It occurred to him that his other self probably just departed through this airlock, which was what had drawn him here. That meant Garibaldi was gone, too.

The airlock door opened, and Delenn entered, looking relieved.

He lifted arms that felt like lead bricks up to his head and pulled off his helmet. Looking at the outer door through which Garibaldi had passed, not long ago, he said heavily, "I tried. I tried to warn them, but it all happened just as I remembered."

"I know," she touched his shoulder comfortingly. "It's time. We have to go. They're waiting for us."


	5. Chapter 5

"_The third principle of sentient life is its capacity for self-sacrifice: for a cause, for a loved one, and for a friend. But the noblest is for the one who is all three..."_  
\---- Valen, _Principles  
_

Sheridan wearily leaned against the airlock wall, waiting for the lights to change color and the door to open. Finally, all those hours of EVA were over, and the time shift system was stabilized and ready to go. It was time to let Sinclair do whatever he felt he had to do, and for the rest of them to get out of there.

The lights brightened and the door hissed open. Too tired to do more than pull off his helmet, he clumped into the station and winced at the noise of the alarms. The tachyon bursts, the general instability of space-time in this sector, Ivanova's helpful false warnings, and a general evacuation made for some loud alarms.

He reached the deserted main corridor leading to C&amp;C, looking around curiously at the amount of damage. He had been protected from the instability in his suit in the core and hadn't felt any of the severe shaking.

To his even greater surprise, he saw Zathras pinned beneath a fallen support girder, and went to help.

Zathras smiled in satisfaction. "Zathras knew the One would not leave him."

"What?" Sheridan asked, not fully paying attention, then grunted trying to shift the large metal bar without success. He tapped his link. "Sheridan to _White Star_."

Marcus answered. "_White Star. Go ahead, Captain."_

"Marcus, I need some help. Come to the main corridor near C&amp;C. Zathras is trapped."

_"Coming."_

Sheridan looked again at Zathras. "What did you say?" The small alien grinned like a madman.

Zathras nodded repeatedly. "Zathras was right. I know you."

The captain was uncomfortable under Zathras' suddenly too-knowing stare and looked away. Marcus came trotting up soon after. "Ah, I see. You are in a bit of a jam."

Two people made it easy and Zathras was freed quickly. As he scrambled to his feet, Marcus asked him, "Zathras, what about the stabilizer? And Entil'Zha?"

"Fixed," Zathras announced. "Gave it to him, did Zathras."

Marcus let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank Valen." Then to Sheridan's observing gaze, he seemed to grow troubled again. "I'm going to tell Susan the news." He moved off toward C&amp;C.

Sheridan called after him. "We'll meet you there." Then he asked Zathras, "So if you gave Sinclair the stabilizer, where is he?"

Zathras shrugged and bobbed his head. "Not far. On his way."

"Good." Sheridan plopped down on a supply crate. "I'd look for him, but I'd rather just wait." He started to strip his suit, while Zathras merely watched him, grinning to himself.

* * *

Ivanova watched on the main monitor of C&amp;C as the shuttle carrying Commander Sinclair, Garibaldi, and the last of the B4 evacuees slipped through the distortion field, heading to B5.

Strange to think _she_ was also out there on the station, working in blissful ignorance of Shadows and her own future self here on Babylon 4.

Her hand dropped away from the comm activation switch, having conquered the temptation to contact the shuttle. Was it wrong or right not to warn Michael about Jack? She had chosen not to contact him, knowing she was thereby inflicting near death and betrayal on her good friend. But tampering with time could be dangerous. She knew that in her universe, Michael had not known. Changing that fact could change other events as well.

She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that Michael had survived and Clark would have found a way to assassinate Santiago anyway. But it still hurt. If only Jeff were here right now to talk to about this... She needed his steady morality right now. She smiled a bit, remembering the Sinclair and Ivanova in 2258. He had worked for so long, so subtly, to help her find her confidence again. Little by little, under the pressure of his faith in her, the walls had cracked.

Looking back now, it was just as he had said to Sheridan: everything had led to this. Earth Force had sent her to replace Takashima, believing Ivanova would be less personally loyal to Sinclair and more loyal to Earth Dome. A spy of sorts, and certainly someone they thought they could count on when Clark came to power. But a year and a half under the tutelage of Jeff Sinclair had changed her. Through example he had shown her the importance of principles and _right_, and fighting for both. By the time of Colonel Ben Zayn's visit, Clark's henchmen must have realized that she had no intention of playing obedient soldier anymore. But if she had been more of a lap dog, Earthdome might not have decided to put in a new station commander, and Jeff wouldn't have gone to Minbar to become Ranger One...

The chain of cause and effect stretched back as far as the mind would trace it, all to end up here and now. Would she later understand the greater purpose in Jeff's being lost in time?

How could she, if he was going to die some meaningless death a thousand years ago? Maybe getting unstuck in time was the universe's way of saying Jeffrey Sinclair was not supposed to go back with the station.

The C&amp;C doors opened and she turned to see Marcus hurry in. "Susan! Zathras said he fixed the stabilizer and gave it to Entil'Zha. They're all on their way here."

Her moment of relief that Sinclair was rescued passed as soon as it had come. They had run out of time. Jeff was going to sacrifice himself and there was nothing they could do.

She was so wrapped in her own gloom she didn't catch Marcus' murmur at first. "What?"

His eyes were deep and somber as he repeated, "I'm going to take his place."

A cold stone dropped within her. "No, Marcus. No. There must be another way."

He shook his head and moved to join her in front of the window. "No. There's no one else. Someone has to guide the station back, and I won't-- I _can't_ let Entil'Zha do it."

"But Marcus--" she wondered why she was suddenly arguing for Sinclair to be the one to go. "What if this truly is his destiny?"

"It's not," he answered, with surprising certainty. "His destiny is to be Entil'Zha in the war against the Shadows. That's where he belongs."

"How do you know?"

"I saw a timeflash, Susan. Of the future." He moved closer to her, but his gaze went past her. "The Shadow war was over. We'd won. But only if I follow my heart and do what's right. This is right, Susan. I know it is."

Her eyes pricked with tears and she offered quickly, "I'll go."

He shook his head and found a wry smile for her. "And you know how many words in any Minbari language?"

She glared at him, trapped. She didn't want him to go, but she didn't want Jeff to go either.

Marcus saw her resistance and touched the Ranger brooch pinned to his cloak. "I am a Ranger." Then he added, obviously quoting, "'We walk in the dark places no others will enter. We stand on the bridge and no one may pass. We live for the One, and we die for the One.'"

She swallowed hard. She had known that the Rangers were sworn to follow Ranger One, but she hadn't known the depth of their dedication.

His gaze dropped away from hers and he whispered. "He gave me back my life, when I only wanted to die. I can't let him do this."

Susan valiantly pushed away tears. He was resolved on his course, and who was she to demand otherwise? But still, she felt as if something long hidden inside was breaking.

She reached for his hand and managed only to say, "I know."

He squeezed her hand in silent thanks and let go.

She asked, "What are we going to do? There's not much time."

"When the rest of them go back to the _White Star_, you and I will stay behind."

"Then we'll force him on the ship."

He shook his head. "We can't."

"Why not?" She pointed to the pike hanging off his belt. "You're good with that thing."

"If we give him a chance to fight, it's over. You're right, I'm good -- but Entil'Zha is better."

"Not when he's unconscious," she pointed out. She could see his flash of shock at the idea of knocking out Sinclair, but the idea grew on him.

"We don't have much choice, do we?" he asked, resigned. "You distract him, I'll stun him."

She held out her hand and they sealed the bargain.

The doors opened and they dropped hands like guilty children.

Sheridan, Delenn, Zathras, and Sinclair entered. Ivanova's jaw dropped at the sight of Sinclair, and next to her, Marcus took an involuntary step forward, suddenly tense with anxiety. She blurted, "My God, Jeff! What happened?"

Not that it wasn't obvious. He looked as if he had aged ten years, with solidly grey temples and creases which hadn't been there before. Besides the mysterious aging, he was also clearly exhausted. He ran a hand through his suddenly silver-threaded hair and looked rueful. "I feel like I went two rounds in the Mutai. My advice is to avoid being unstuck in time, if you can."

He smiled, but Susan recognized the look in his eyes, having seen it before on the station. He was ready to do what conscience dictated, regardless of personal consequence.

She sternly kept control of her face so he wouldn't read her equal determination that this time, he wasn't going anywhere.

They joined her in front of the main control console. Jeff stood just apart, Zathras at his side, while Marcus moved to put his back to the window so he could watch the whole room.

Sheridan faced Sinclair and asked abruptly, "You're really going to do this?"

"You heard Delenn, Captain. Without this station in the last great war, the Minbari couldn't defeat the Shadows." He reached for the green Ranger brooch attached to his brown and gold cloak. It was the sort of automatic gesture someone made when checking that he still had something in a pocket. "But someone has to guide it. There's no automatic."

"Then I'll take her out." Marcus volunteered, but with little expectation that Sinclair would change his mind.

Sinclair shook his head once, but his expression was sympathetic. "Marcus, thank you, but I have to take it back. A lot depends on this station arriving in the past."

Marcus' lips tightened in rebellion, but he didn't object again. His gaze snapped to her, silently pleading that she try and find words that would persuade him.

"No," she took a step toward him. "I can't accept this. Damn it, Jeff, I --"

"Susan, it's all right." His warm, light brown eyes met hers so directly it seemed they were alone. "My whole life has been leading to this. I understand what I'm choosing."

His will struck hers, and her own slipped. He was so sure of this, at peace and almost glad. Could there be something else, something he wasn't saying? While she knew that Jeff Sinclair would gladly give his life for the knowledge that he was saving the future, she was unsure if he would be quite this eager.

He took her silence for acceptance and reached across to squeeze her arm gently. "Thank you."

She dropped her eyes, confused again. If this was what he wanted...

Once she was no longer imprisoned in his gaze, her doubts were pushed aside. Just because he wanted to do it, didn't mean that someone else couldn't do it. Draal had taken over at Epsilon 3, and that had been Delenn's choice, since she feared Sinclair would do it. This was the same thing. His friends had to thwart his sacrificial good intentions so that he remained in the present where he was much more important than anything he could possibly have done a thousand years ago.

Apparently believing that the objections were satisfied, Sinclair requested, "Would you and Marcus give us a minute? There's something we need to discuss."

She nodded and slowly walked away.

"_Entil'Zha veni_," Marcus murmured, bowing his head, and he followed Susan out.

* * *

Sinclair watched them leave and frowned. He knew them both well and had expected more objection. Perhaps they realized that he had to do this. Marcus' farewell had seemed to indicate acceptance at least. That was good; he didn't want to leave behind too many who were unhappy with his plans. It gave him hope that Garibaldi might come to acceptance too.

If not, there was little Jeff could do about it. His experience being "unstuck" had shown him what would happen if he did not -- the station would be destroyed and Garibaldi would die.

_I'm sorry, Michael_, he sent out the thought, _I know you're going to have a hard time with this when they tell you, but it's the only way to keep you alive_.

He put it all aside. There was one last matter to attend to. He raised his eyebrows at Sheridan who had been shifting impatiently for some time, about to burst with a question he hadn't wanted to ask in front of Susan and Marcus. "You had a question, Captain?"

"Yes, I did." Sheridan faced Zathras and asked, "Before, when you were stuck under the beam, why did you call _me_ the One?"

The last piece of the puzzle snapped into place for Sinclair. Before Zathras spoke, his mind had raced ahead to the conclusion. The Vorlons had confirmed Sheridan was in the right place, but Sinclair hadn't understood why. Now, at last, it was clear.

Zathras rocked back and forth on his heels, grinning smugly. "Zathras knew. Zathras is oldest living caretaker of great machine. 110 years old. Zathras has studied the great machine. Knows things even Draal does not know yet. And I know you," he turned his eyes from Sinclair to Delenn and Sheridan in turn, "and I know you, and I know you."

Zathras help up three fingers to demonstrate as he explained, mostly for Sheridan's benefit. "All Minbari belief is around three. Three castes: worker, warrior, religious. Three languages. Light, dark, grey. Nine of the grey council: three times three. All is three. As you are three."

He inscribed a circle in the air to draw them together symbolically. "As you are one. As you are the One. You are the one who was," Zathras' gaze lit on Sinclair briefly, who was impressed with the change from scatter-brain to focused teacher. His eyes moved on to Delenn and then Sheridan. "You are the one who is, you are the one who will be. You are the beginning of the story, the middle of the story, the end of the story, which forms the next great story. In your heart, you know what Zathras says is true."

Sinclair knew he did and he knew Delenn did. He looked to Sheridan, who was not a man who was comfortable with the spiritual, preferring the hard edges of reality, but even he nodded. Sinclair smiled a little -- Delenn and Kosh between them had prepared him well.

After that, there was little to say. He shook Sheridan's hand and said goodbye. Then he faced Delenn and neither of them could speak. She bowed her head briefly then laid one hand over her heart and raised the other to him, palm out, in the gesture of Minbari blessing and farewell to a loved one.

He blinked away tears, and returned the gesture, honored by the inclusion into her heart, as she had been in his for so long. He watched them leave, to return to the life he would never know again.

Zathras touched his sleeve and said, not without sympathy, "We have much to do."

* * *

Once outside C&amp;C, Susan and Marcus did not head back to the _White Star_. Instead they went in the opposite direction into an alcove near the C&amp;C entrance.

Side by side, they pressed back into the niche. She whispered, "Still ready?"

He nodded resolutely. "'We live for the One, we die for the One,'" he murmured again. "The Rangers, the war -- we need him."

She put a hand on his arm. That seemed to break a little of his self-control. He turned into her body and held her tightly. His voice ragged, he whispered into her hair, "Susan, if there were anyone else..."

"Hush, Marcus," she ran her hands through his hair, finally able to do what she had been dreaming of doing for so long. Now that it was too late to do more. "And take this with you." She kissed him, holding back nothing. Flesh to flesh, they pressed together desperately, and she strained for a greater connection.

Like a butterfly pushing from a cocoon, her mind broke through the barriers where she had hidden it and touched his. The butterfly flew free -- twining them together in an intimacy deeper than words. In an instant he knew she loved him, and he loved her, that she would miss him, but that she accepted his going.

He withdrew first, as the door to C&amp;C opened. In his eyes she could see his wonder at the connection and what he had felt, but he did not speak.

She heard footsteps and recognized the Sheridan's stride and Delenn's lighter tread heading down the corridor. She dared a quick glance of confirmation and saw Sheridan and Delenn, arm in arm, at the other end of the corridor. Then they turned the corner, and the corridor was deserted.

She pulled back into the niche. "Zathras didn't go. I guess he's staying."

When she looked again at Marcus, the moment of togetherness had passed. He had settled into himself, readying himself for what he was about to do. He would not be swayed. While a large part of her cried out against it, she also knew it was the right thing to do.

"Then we have to draw Entil'Zha out," he said. "You lie down at that end, as if you're hurt, and I'll get him." His Minbari pike telescoped out with a soft metallic whisper and he stepped out of the alcove. "Let's do it."

She tiptoed past C&amp;C and lay down on the floor at the end of the corridor. Marcus gave the doors to C&amp;C two solid blows with the pike and then pressed up against the wall.

Not even half a minute later, the doors opened and, as expected, Sinclair poked his head out. He immediately saw Ivanova. "Susan!"

He hurried down the corridor and, on cat feet, Marcus followed.

Sinclair's battle instinct had not deserted him entirely, for he started to turn just as Marcus swung the pike. Susan winced at the crash as head and pike came together. She reached to catch Sinclair, as he dropped in a soft fall of his robes. Carefully she laid him flat and checked his vital signs. He was out like the proverbial light, but thankfully his pulse was steady.

"I'm sorry, Entil'Zha," Marcus murmured, standing over them. "But she wouldn't want you to do this. I won't let it happen."

Ivanova scooted to Sinclair's feet. "Come on; let's get him to the _White Star_."

He collapsed his pike and bent down to take Sinclair's shoulders. Before they had lifted him, Ivanova's commlink chirped. She hit it. "Ivanova."

_"Commander?_" Sheridan asked. "_Where are you?"_

"We're on the way," she answered. "I just needed a.. souvenir."

_"Get back here on the double. We don't want to be trapped here."_

"On our way. Ivanova out." She bent and took hold of Sinclair's legs again and lifted. For a slim man, he was unexpectedly dense and heavy.

At the hole in the station's hull, they set him down and their eyes met. "You have to go," he murmured. "I don't envy you -- Entil'Zha will be quite angry when he wakes up."

"I should go with you."

He shook his head once. "No. This is my path, not yours. But I wish..." he trailed off, knowing the futility of the wish. "Be careful, Susan."

"You too." Before she lost her will to do this, she lowered herself in the hole. She glanced around, but fortunately the area was deserted. "All clear."

Marcus eased Sinclair down to her, feet-first, and Susan lowered him to the floor. She then returned to look up through the hole, at Marcus above her. He said nothing, but she knew what he felt, and knew that he knew what she felt.

She hit the control to shut the hatch, and as it rolled shut, she lifted a hand and whispered, "_Dosvedanya_."

Forcing back the tears, she returned to Sinclair's supine form and dragged Sinclair through the airlock. Then she touched her comm. "Ivanova to bridge. We're aboard."

"Then we're out of here."

The ship lurched as they disconnected from the station and she swayed as the ship turned quickly and headed out of the distortion field.

* * *

Marcus took his time returning to C&amp;C, needing to give the _White Star_ plenty of time to get clear with Entil'Zha. His heart was pounding rapidly as he considered the enormity of what he was planning. A thousand years...

But it was necessary, he reminded himself, touching the isil'zha pinned to his cloak. Other Rangers had sacrificed their lives -- he could do no less.

The timeflash he had experienced was a fire in the middle of his resolve. He remembered Entil'Zha's voice, seeing the face of his mentor before him and the impression of the two of them in the middle of a vast, empty space, perhaps a cargo bay, or perhaps a dream.

__

"Because of me," Entil'Zha said. "Because you followed your heart and did the right thing."

"But it was wrong!" Marcus heard himself exclaim.

"Who can say?" Sinclair returned calmly. "The war is over, Marcus. Light won. Maybe if none of this had happened, the Shadows would have won. We don't know. All we know is what happened and accept it. We can't remain tied to the past, when it's the future we have to build."

"That's an odd thing to hear from _you_," Marcus retorted, smiling.

The scene had dimmed and shifted, dizzyingly swift, but Marcus had heard Sinclair chuckle, and the sound had returned with him back to the bright lights of the station.

It was comforting, Marcus thought, that he knew absolutely how _right_ his action would be from this future message.

He strolled back to C-and-C and, when he thought he had dawdled enough, he walked through the doors.

"Where did you go?" Zathras asked, without turning from the side console he was working at. "Must go, time system --" then he turned his head and stopped speaking. He blinked rapidly in completely speechless surprise.

Marcus grinned. "I think you were saying something about going?"

"No, no, no, no," Zathras said, looking panicked, and peered behind Marcus as if hoping Sinclair would materialize. "Where is the One?"

"Not here. You'll have to make do with me."

"No. Must find, must have the One --" Zathras reached toward the comm system but Marcus closed a hand over his wrist.

"I'm taking his place, Zathras."

Zathras yanked free with unexpected ease. "No. You did not listen to Zathras. Must have, or all is lost. Destiny! Was, must be. Big circle."

"Destiny," Marcus sneered, finally losing his patience with cryptic warnings. "Destiny to be killed? Destiny to die a meaningless death a thousand years ago?"

Zathras stared at him, with huge, round eyes. "You do not understand. No meaningless death, _great_ meaning. Great importance to Minbari and to galaxy."

"Sure," Marcus said dismissively. "I know. The Minbari need the station to fight the Shadows. I heard the speech from Delenn."

"Also need the One," Zathras added anxiously, trying to make him see. "The One leads us, all follow the One."

"What are you talking about? What Minbari would follow a Human? Follow him how?"

"Not Human, _changed_. Like Delenn," Zathras emphasized, gazing up at him with earnest, beady eyes. "But into Minbari, into the One who was."

Everything inside Marcus froze at Zathras' words. The picture he'd had so clear in his mind shattered and reformed into a new image which horrified him with its implications. Everything he had heard Delenn and Entil'Zha say took on new meaning. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. The words "Minbari not born of Minbari" echoed in his head like bells of death.

Zathras nodded once. "Yes, yes, now you see." And just to make sure Marcus grasped it all, Zathras added with deep reverence, "Valen."

"Oh God, what have I done?" Marcus whispered, then dove for the comm. "Babylon 4 to _White Star_. Come in, _White Star_. Babylon 4 to _White Star_, come back! You must come back."

The computer's voice answered blandly, "There are no vessels within communications range."

Marcus faced Zathras, stricken to the soul. Because he hadn't trusted Entil'Zha enough and hadn't obeyed, his impetuous, well-meaning act was going to destroy everything.

"What can we do?"

"Only one thing to do," Zathras answered and returned to the console where the time device had been hooked in.

"Where are we going?" Marcus demanded.

Zathras shook his head, working frantically at the controls. "Not 'where'. _When_."

Zathras touched a panel. Temporal energies swirled and crashed around Babylon 4, taking them to a _when_ that Marcus hoped could make everything right again.

* * *

Captain Sheridan took the center seat and wished Cole and Ivanova would hurry up. The bridge seemed terribly empty without them, but he wasn't sure that having them here would really help. There was one who had come with them but was not returning.

His gaze strayed to the image of Babylon Four on the screen as Lennier guided them away from the unstable station. Sinclair was back there. He had wanted to stay, but the fact of it was, Sheridan had left him there. He hated leaving people behind, especially members of his crew. Technically, of course, Sinclair wasn't a member of his crew and was capable of making his own choices. He had chosen to stay, and probably had a better idea of the consequences of his choice than Sheridan did. So the captain had acquiesced, and left Sinclair behind.

It grated nonetheless.

He glanced aside, to find Delenn watching the screen too as Babylon Four receded. Her long brown hair tumbled down her back, and yet her expression seemed to be purely Minbari -- a combination of pride, hope and grief that shone in her eyes.

"Delenn?" he asked softly. "Are you all right?"

She didn't take her eyes from the screen but her right hand moved to take his, where it lay on the arm of his chair. Her small hand held his tightly, whispering, "For us, John."

At first he thought she meant for the two of them, then he understood. Sinclair was sacrificing himself for her people. For the Minbari, so that they might win the last Great War, and in a way, for everyone since.

She added so softly he barely heard her, "For me." A single crystalline tear spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheek.

He reached across with his free hand and gently fingered it away.

She turned her head finally to look at him and found a tremulous smile. "There is something I need to tell you, John. I need to tell everyone, as soon as Susan and Marcus arrive."

He was pricked by curiosity, but he merely nodded and squeezed her hand. "Then we'll wait. They should be up here soon."

* * *

Sinclair clawed his way out of the blackness, but when it faded, he wanted it back. A sharp pain lanced through his head and he gasped. For a moment he couldn't recall why he had wanted consciousness so desperately.

Then the memories returned in a rush, and he forced his eyes open, as dread coiled coldly in his stomach. Light struck his eyes like a knife, burrowing back into his brain and down his spine. But closing his eyes didn't seem to help any, so he reopened them, squinting, and grimly forced himself to sit up. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was standing with Zathras …

He turned his head, nearly passing out as the room whirled and he needed all his concentration to hang on.

"Jeff?" Ivanova's face wandered into focus. "Are you all right?"

What was she doing there? Shouldn't she be on the _White Star_? Were they under attack?

God, he couldn't think. Wanted to throw up.

She put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "You don't look well. Did Marcus hit you too hard?"

The pain and dizziness eased and he could look around. He knew where he was -- the cargo bay. On the _White Star_. "Mother of God," he whispered, "Why am I here?"

"Marcus took your place," she answered. "He refused to let you sacrifice yourself again -- when so many depend on you here and now." She met his gaze boldly, without any remorse or understanding. "And I helped him."

For a moment he didn't want to believe what she was saying, and couldn't speak for fear it would come true. She continued to look at him, secure in her ignorance.

Blistering rage swept aside shock. He wanted to shout at her that they were all doomed, wanted to shake her to pieces for ruining everything. But he still didn't move or speak. The rage died, unused. He didn't have the strength, not when she had been doing what she thought was right. It wasn't her fault she didn't know the consequences of his not going back in time.

Still, she must have seen something in his face, because she shrank back and could no longer meet his eyes.

But it wasn't yet too late. If he could get to the comm, and tell the command deck to turn around, he could still go back. He struggled to his feet and felt Ivanova's hand come under his elbow, just as millions of mice with sharp claws seemed to slash at his brain, sending sparkles and darkness across his eyes...

"... Jeff? Jeff?" Susan's urgent voice drew him back, and he felt her hands keeping him upright.

With an effort of will, he pulled his thoughts back into coherence and tried to remember what he had been doing. The bridge. He had to tell Delenn... He lost track of what he had to tell her, but he knew he had to get to the command deck.

"Bridge." He turned toward the door.

Susan's grip kept him from moving. "Jeff, you'd better see the healer. You almost passed out -- I think Marcus gave you a concussion."

He shook her off. "No. I've got to get to the bridge."

She gave in with poor grace, thankfully, because he doubted he could get there without her help. The efforts of walking and keeping his nausea down left him little to keep the corridor from wavering. Every footfall sent another spike in his brain, but he kept moving doggedly forward. He didn't remember why he had wanted to come to the bridge, even when the doors opened and he was there.

Sheridan, Lennier, and Delenn were all facing forward. Delenn's hand rested in Sheridan's as they watched Babylon Four growing smaller on the screen.

"View forward, Mr. Lennier," Sheridan ordered heavily. "Let's go home."

The image changed to the bluish distortion field. It was close.

Too close.

Sinclair remembered everything in a flash. He shouted, "No! Lennier, go back!"

But instead of doing what he said, they all turned to look at who had spoken.

"Jeffrey!" Delenn stared at him, astonished and appalled by his presence.

He fixed his gaze on Lennier and felt the authority he had heard himself use as Valen settle into his voice. "_Eshar naal ven'ta_!"

Lennier whirled and touched his controls frantically. On the screen the distortion field loomed closer, filling the view, and began to twist as the ship turned. The artificial gravity couldn't compensate for the inertia and everything on the ship bucked towards port. Sinclair would have fallen, if not for Susan's grip on his shoulder.

"We're not... going... to make it," Lennier gasped, holding on to his console with one hand while working the controls with the other.

Still turning, the ship entered the time distortion field. The _White_ _Star_ was caught in the grip of a god-like hand and shaken.

Suddenly the floor wasn't there anymore. Sinclair staggered and pitched into the wall, but couldn't find anything to grasp. Like time itself, everything slid out of his hands, out of his control.

He had a brief glimpse of Delenn, her green eyes wide and frightened -- not frightened by the rough ride, but by what they would find on the other side.

Then his mind, already overtaxed, decided to let go. As the darkness fell on him, his last thought was of Catherine.

"I'm sorry...."

* * *

Alarms were still blaring as Sheridan opened his eyes, telling him that he hadn't been out long.

He pulled himself from the floor, reflecting that it didn't look good to have been flung from his seat. Then again, he saw when he stood up, everyone had been tossed around, too. Others were stirring. He saw Ivanova in the back, kneeling beside a crumpled brown-robed figure.

Sheridan swore to himself. He _had_ seen Sinclair right before everything had gone to hell. He had been hoping it was just a hallucination. What did this mean? Somehow Sinclair was here, not in the past with Babylon Four. Where or when was the station without someone to take it back?

Ivanova put a gentle hand on Sinclair's neck to feel for his pulse, then gently straightened his outer coat, without moving his body in case he had broken something. Although the rest of the crew were picking themselves off the floor, he was still unconscious.

Ivanova looked up, and met Sheridan's gaze. "His pulse is steady, but I think he has a concussion. He needs a doctor."

Sheridan nodded. They probably all needed a doctor. Sheridan knew he'd be finding new bruises for the next week, and he suspected he had strained a muscle in his neck, because his head didn't seem to be attached quite right.

Where was Delenn? He cast around to find her, kneading his neck with one hand, but didn't see her distinctive brown hair. Lennier was kneeling beside a different Minbari, not at Delenn's side as he should be. Then, with a cold shock, he realized that Lennier was kneeling beside a female Minbari wearing a red dress.

Confirming his suspicion, Lennier called urgently, "Delenn!" He held her hands and rubbed them. It was the first time Sheridan had ever seen him look so openly upset.

She had changed back.

One strange part of Sheridan was not surprised -- he had never known any different. The rest of him was aghast.

He frowned and shook his head, as his vision momentarily twinned, and memories of a mission like their own to Babylon Four, but with an unchanged Delenn wearing red, flashed through his head.

Then he realized he had two sets of memories: the stronger set had a Delenn who had transformed to become part-Human, but in the other, she hadn't.

Everyone was staring at her, as shocked and fearful as he was. This wasn't home.

"Is the distortion field still there?" he asked into the silence. They could go back through -- toss Sinclair on Babylon Four and hope that fixed things. His gaze slid to the quiescent form of Sinclair on the floor, impressed and a bit afraid. One man's absence a thousand years ago had affected Delenn profoundly -- what other changes might they find?

Lennier left Delenn's side and moved to his console. His voice was quiet, but carried to the far corners of the command deck. "No. The distortion field has closed. We cannot return."

Sheridan tried to find something encouraging to say, but everything he considered sounded too hollow, too desperate.

A soft murmur gave a welcome excuse to find something else to do. Delenn was stirring. He rushed to her side as she sat up. She put a hand to her head, lightly touching her bonecrest and her renewed lack of hair.

"Delenn?" he asked anxiously. She looked different fully Minbari -- more severe, more mysterious. He didn't know what to say to her anymore. What if her crest was only the outward manifestation of deeper differences? But the soft smile she offered him was the same, as was the brilliance of her green eyes. Most of his worry dissipated as he looked down into her concerned gaze.

"John? Are you all right?"

"Aside from some memories that weren't there before, fine." He held out his hands to help her stand, and he noticed that her skin was a little cooler to the touch. "And you?"

"The same." He didn't care that they were in front of the crew, he pulled her in his arms for an embrace, relieved that, despite what was ahead, at least she would be there.

She sighed in his arms, returning his hug before she drew away. "And Jeffrey?"

They moved toward the back where they saw that a Minbari medic had helped Susan turn him over. His eyes were closed, and he looked ashen.

Where was his scar? Sheridan remembered a scar had been on Sinclair's cheek when the mission had started. Now that was gone, and the aging effect had somehow retreated, leaving him much the same as when the mission had begun.

Then a touch of vertigo hit, and an even more conflicting surge of memories rose up: media reports about the Battle of the Line, and rumors of a secret meeting between Sinclair and the Minbari which had ended the war....

Delenn's tight grip on his arm pulled him back from the onslaught and let him force all the other memories to the back of his head. Apparently Sinclair had been much luckier in this universe.

At his side Delenn murmured, "How can this be?"

He glanced at her. "We've caused that alternate universe, haven't we? You never underwent the change..."

She whispered, her eyes glazed, "I thought, Delenn thought, there was time-- then there was no more time. The Shadows came..."

The words recalled the immensity of the Shadow strength, from his other memories. He spoke aloud to try to work it out, "Just as we had thought, without the station, Valen wasn't able to drive the Shadows from Z'ha'dum."

She shook her head, still staring blindly at Sinclair. "But without Jeffrey, Valen could not--" She cut herself off and repeated helplessly, "How can this be?"

"We'll get through it," he reassured her. "Remember, we have some forewarning about what will happen. "Forewarned is forearmed" as we say."

But as Delenn cuddled closer under his arm, he remembered the terror in Ivanova's voice in the message from the future and knew it couldn't be that easy.


	6. Chapter 6

"_The future is always changing. We create the future with our words, with our deeds, and with our beliefs. This is a possible future, Commander. And it is my hope that you may yet avoid it_."  
\-- Lady Ladira of House Mollari

Michael Garibaldi stared at the unopened bottle of scotch which rested in the center of the table where he had put it two hours ago.

Disconnected phrases swirled in his mind, striking the same pain again and again. "... I won't be coming back... I couldn't leave without saying goodbye... you wouldn't come back either..."

The only thing which kept him from opening the bottle was knowing how disappointed Jeff would be.

But the only thing which kept him within arm's reach of the bottle was knowing Jeff was never coming back.

Seven years of friendship, and this was all that was left: an image on a screen speaking words he didn't want to hear, but which echoed in his head, and a bottle for drowning his sorrows.

Seven years since they'd met on Mars. One hopeless drunk, and one Earth Force commander. One ex-GROPO, who'd barely seen combat, and one decorated hero of the Line.

It had been an odd friendship, since they'd had little obviously in common. But ever since the day Commander Sinclair, CO of Tarsis Ridge Earth Force Base, had entered Garibaldi's "office" and wanted to hire a ship for a secret investigation of the Martian wilds, they'd been friends. Sinclair had pulled him on a path without the bottle, saving his life and salvaging his career. And in return? What had Garibaldi really given him? His loyalty?

Precious damn little, that was what.

He reached for the neck of the bottle, and just as he had each time before, pulled back his hand just before touching it.

He knew Jeff wouldn't want him to do this. He'd said at the end of the message: "I have to do this-- no, I _want_ to do this, Michael. This is the only way to prevent the future of Susan's message. But there's much more, also. When Delenn returns, she'll tell you everything. I'll remember you always, old friend. Take care of yourself...." He wouldn't want Garibaldi to undo years of sobriety over a willing and eager sacrifice.

Michael jerked upright, suddenly struck by the odd phrasing. _"I'll remember you always_..." If Jeff were planning on dying, why would he say that? He realized then that the message did not once actually say that Sinclair was going to die, just that he was going somewhere and not coming back.

Going to Babylon 4.

Suddenly, Michael recalled the words of the odd little alien who had been found on the station two years ago. "... Need place.... to help save galaxy on the side of light.... The One leads us.... We pull this place through time to save us all." And how the alien had looked intently at Sinclair, shaken his head, and muttered, "Not the One."

Garibaldi felt cold suddenly. Maybe what Zathras had meant was "Not the One, _yet_."

Was that where Jeff had gone? To fight in a different war in some other time?

The possibilities whirled in his brain. Could it be? The pieces seemed to fit, but the picture they made was absurd. It was a fantastic, incredible idea that refused to go away.

His link chirped.

He stared at it, unwilling to face any security problems right now, until it chirped again. He touched the activator. "Garibaldi. Go."

"Chief, this is Corwin."

Not the station house. He blinked in surprise. "What can I do for you, lieutenant?"

"Just thought you should know, Chief, the anomaly in sector 14 has disappeared from the scanners. And also, the _White_ _Star_ signaled that they're on approach."

"Where are they coming in?"

"The shuttle's cleared for Bay 3," Corwin answered. "And, uh, Chief? They requested a med team meet them."

"Fraggin' wonderful," Garibaldi muttered. "Thanks. Garibaldi out."

He disconnected the channel and froze as his insides clenched with dread. What happened? Was Jeff really gone away? Was he dead? Who was hurt? Had they taken care of the problem?

There were too many questions, and the only answers would be down in Bay 3. He stood up, fastened his jacket, and started down to the docking bays. His pace increased as he walked, from walk to trot to run, until he was sprinting through the docking bay corridors.

He found Doctor Hobbs and her medical team already at the docking bay. "Doctor? Do you know who's hurt?"

She shook her head. "No, Mr. Garibaldi. Only that there was possible head trauma. I hope that--"

The airlock opened and the doctor fell silent. Captain Sheridan was the first through the doors.

Garibaldi's anxiety exploded into fury. Sheridan. Sheridan had concealed Jeff's presence, had prevented him from saying goodbye... Michael stepped forward, cocking back his arm, ready to enjoy planting his fist in Sheridan's nose.

But Garibaldi stopped, finding he couldn't strike. He knew whose fault it had really been. Besides, Sheridan looked as if he'd been trampled by Drazi, and it wasn't Garibaldi's style to attack those who were down. He extended his open hand. "Captain, welcome back."

Sheridan shook his hand, with a warm, relieved smile. "Michael, I'm glad to see you. I'm sorry I deceived you, but Ambassador Sinclair asked me to."

"I know, Captain. Is he--" Michael had to pause and gather himself together. "Did he come back?"

Sheridan nodded, a little grimly. "He did."

Behind him, the airlock doors opened. Delenn came out, followed by Ivanova and Lennier, who held up Sinclair between them.

Garibaldi's anger fled entirely at the sight of his friend. Jeff looked like a pak'ma'ra appetizer: his face was colorless and worn, cheeks pale and sunken beneath sharpened cheekbones, eyes dull. Garibaldi had seen his friend exhausted, but his state was beyond mere tiredness. There was something wrong with him. Michael could see he was putting one foot in front of the other only through willpower, which was all that was holding him to consciousness.

Yet despite it all, Michael was glad to see him. It had been so damn long, almost two years, since Sinclair's promotion to Ambassador for Minbar. "Captain!" he rushed forward, beating Dr. Hobbs to Sinclair's side and taking Lennier's place. "God, Jeff, you look horrible. See what happens when I'm not along?"

"Michael?" Sinclair stopped moving and turned his head slowly. Garibaldi didn't like the way Sinclair's light brown eyes wouldn't focus on him. "I'm sorry, Michael. I tried..."

A chill slid down Michael's spine. Had they failed?

But before he could ask any questions, the doctor bustled up. "Ambassador Sinclair should not be on his feet. Stretcher." She beckoned the two medtechs closer and they activated the unit. Then she seized Sinclair's chin to examine his face. "You need to go to Medlab, Ambassador."

"I just need rest, doctor. I'll be fine." Sinclair tried a wan version of his usual charming grin.

She snorted, unimpressed. "When you get a medical degree, let me know. In the meantime, Ambassador, you're going to Medlab."

"You're worse than Stephen," he muttered, making her smile.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Let's get you out of here." She urged him down on the stretcher. The mere fact that he did it without more argument told Michael volumes about how much he must be hurting. He helped ease Jeff down, arranging the Minbari-style cloak so it wouldn't drag the floor. He didn't miss the way Jeff shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth when the stretcher was jarred.

"I'll come see you soon," Garibaldi promised, and touched him on the shoulder. Then he looked at the doctor. "Do whatever you can, Doctor. We're going to need him soon."

She nodded. "He will be on his feet in twenty-four hours."

Before the medtechs could move the stretcher, Sinclair called softly, "Delenn?"

She moved fluidly to his side. "I am here."

He spoke to her briefly in Minbari. Garibaldi knew enough to believe it was Adronato, but it was not the common dialect that Delenn and Lennier usually spoke. So he had no idea what Sinclair was saying, except that he caught the names of Valen and Neroon, but he thought Delenn seemed reluctant. She exchanged a glance with Lennier, then acquiesced.

"As you wish," she said and brushed his hand with hers. "Rest well."

Hobbs gave the order and shortly they were gone.

"Delenn?" Sheridan asked. "What was that about?"

"He wanted me to contact Neroon," she answered. "To inform him of our need."

Sheridan frowned suspiciously. "Why did he use Minbari?"

"It was not a request, John, not in the words he used. He knew I could not refuse, though I would like to."

Sheridan accepted her words and let out a long breath. "Well, I've got to get to the war room and see how things have changed."

Delenn quickly said she'd join him and they left, trailed by Lennier.

* * *

Minbari didn't lie very often, Garibaldi reflected, watching them go, but that didn't mean they told the whole truth either. While he hadn't understood what Sinclair had said, he had listened, and he knew Neroon's name had not been mentioned until the end. Sinclair had extracted a promise to do, or not to do, something else.

Garibaldi turned to see what Ivanova might be able to add, but she was in no state to help. "Susan, what's wrong?"

"Have you ever done something for all the right reasons that destroys everything?" she asked, with a brittle tone to her voice and her eyes bright with unshed tears.

He realized who wasn't coming through the doors and why Susan looked so stricken. He asked softly, "Where's Marcus?"

"We planned it so perfectly," she told him, or told herself. She wasn't looking at him, and her words came out with the flatness of shock. "Jeff was going to sacrifice himself on the altar of history and Marcus and I couldn't let him do it. You know him -- back when he was CO here, he couldn't go two weeks without putting himself at risk. And now he's so important to us all... we had to stop him. But now everything's screwed up." She admitted in a whisper, "Because of us. This is all my fault."

Michael had never seen her look so defeated. It did not fit well with his image of Susan Ivanova. He slid an arm around her waist and drew her close for a hug. "We'll be all right, Susan."

She shoved him away furiously. "No, we won't! Marcus is lost in time with that damn station, and there are twice as many Shadows as there should be, and I'm never going to see him again, and we're all going to die--" She inhaled sharply, cutting herself off, and pulled the tattered remnants of her composure around herself.

"Well, let's get to the war room, before they send out a search party."

Garibaldi let her get a few steps ahead of him, fingering the data crystal that had been burning a hole in his pocket since coming back from Sector 14. It contained the only copy of his Starfury's recorder, which he had not shown to anyone yet.

According to what he understood from them, their mission had failed. That meant the events of the recording would come true, unless he found a way to prevent them between now and the attack.

Her desperate words echoed in his head: "...we are under attack. The captain's dead, defense grid is down--"

With Susan already so distressed, the last thing she needed was to hear her own voice detailing the station's doom. The crystal would just have to remain in his pocket a little while longer.

He hurried after her.

* * *

Sheridan entered the war room, noting absently that it was a set-up very similar to the one he remembered more clearly, except the stairs down to the conference table were on his left, instead of his right. One thing that remained the same was the wall screen, and the figure of G'Kar standing before it.

The Narn heard them enter and turn. "Captain. Welcome back."

Sheridan went down the stairs first and his gaze slipped past G'Kar to the screen. He couldn't turn his eyes away. "Oh my God," the whisper escaped his throat.

His feet carried him closer, while his gaze remained fixed on the screen. Red dots represented Shadow attacks, violet shading for planets conquered and held by the Shadows, and gray shading was for places known to be influenced.

Very little of the map was white or yellow. His strategic skills seized on the strongest of those-- Minbar. Not surprising that the Shadows were leaving the Minbari alone for now. A brilliant yellow semi-spherical form, enclosing empty, unknown space, was another clear area -- Vorlon territory.

He commanded the screen to narrow into their local region. The numbers of attacks were fewer thankfully, but now the display carried more detail of intelligence of known Shadow movements and strength.

"Terrifying, I find it," G'Kar commented, coming to stand at his shoulder. "It is unfortunate that the Vorlon isn't here to intercede with his government anymore."

Sheridan nodded glumly, still staring at the screen and the numbers of Shadow fleets and attacks displayed there. Without the Vorlons, the odds of victory became something less than infinitesimal. The sheer numbers was staggering. The Shadows didn't need to hide anymore, they simply conquered.

Delenn slipped her hand in his, but looked at G'Kar. "Do they seem to be coming our direction to you?"

G'Kar cast his gaze briefly on their joined hands, but did not comment before he turned to examine the display. "Eventually. But I see no particular effort to isolate us as a main target. Do you?"

"No," Delenn answered. "And I do not understand it. We are a target. We know they come in eight days."

"Yes, the message. Who can say that it is from _our_ future? Nothing has changed since your journey."

"Nothing?" Sheridan exchanged a disbelieving glance with Delenn. "You don't feel anything different from this morning?"

G'Kar turned to regard him with unblinking scarlet eyes. "Should I?"

"No," Sheridan answered, disappointed. "I was... hoping something had changed."

"If it did, I would also have changed," G'Kar pointed out. "I was not in the time rift with you."

"Well, I don't see that we helped anything," Sheridan grunted. Actually they had made things worse, though in general this universe seemed much like his own. The Narn had still fallen to the Centauri, Earth was still a dictatorship, and Kosh was still dead.

Ivanova and Garibaldi entered, and Sheridan beckoned them down the steps.

"We have a problem," he announced immediately, trying to draw Ivanova's wide, horrified gaze from the wall screen. "Since our mission failed, we're going to work under the assumption that the Shadows are going to be here in eight days, as the message warns.

"But I'm too bushed to plan any kind of coherent strategy right now, so we'll start fresh in the morning. 0800 hours, here. I think we'll also need a Ranger in Marcus' absence, especially if Sinclair's still in medlab."

G'Kar lifted his head in surprise. "Ambassador Sinclair is here?"

"He was concussed on our mission," Sheridan answered. "Doctor Hobbs said he'll be fine."

"This is excellent news, Captain. Why did you not mention this sooner? I must inform the League. Until morning." G'Kar saluted them in Narn fashion and was quickly gone.

Sheridan raised his eyebrows. "I didn't realize it was such good news."

Garibaldi shrugged uncomfortably. "He made some friends in the League. In any case, I know he brought some Rangers with him from Minbar."

"Four," Lennier answered. "Including Karl Stockton."

Sheridan decided not to be annoyed with the assumption that he knew who Lennier was talking about, even though apparently everyone else did. "Who is...?"

"Ambassador Sinclair's assistant," Delenn answered. "Ranger Stockton delivers personal messages and confirms reports first hand for Ranger One."

"He is known as the Anla'shok Na Deral," Lennier added. "The Eyes of Ranger One. In Marcus' absence, he will be a good replacement."

"Good, get him here tomorrow. That's it; everyone get some rest. It may be the last you get for a long time."

When Delenn turned to follow the others out, Sheridan touched her sleeve. "Could you stay a moment?"

"Of course." She smiled up at him, and he thought he could lose himself in the depths of those eyes... so green, so gentle, so wise...

When the war room was deserted, he smiled back. "Delenn, I--" he started and could not finish. How could he begin to say everything he needed to tell her?

Her hand reached out and gently touched his cheek.

"There is so little time now, John," she murmured. "None of us know what will happen. And we are far from home."

He nodded slowly. He laid his hand over hers, and brought her hand down to clasp them both between his. "I just wanted you to know... I'm glad I'm here with you. There's no one I would rather be with, no one I trust more with my life."

Her lips parted as if to speak, but he shook his head once to silence her. "I have to say this now. You are the strongest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. You woke my heart when I thought it was dead forever." He was drawn closer, so the folds of her dress brushed his knees, and he tightened his grip on her hands. Very softly, the words spilled from him, "I don't know what this means to you, but I... I love you, Delenn."

The light rose in her eyes, as tears sparkled but she smiled, drawing his hands to her lips to kiss and then cradled his hands against her cheek. "On that dark day when war began between our people I never thought it would be possible that I would hear a human say those words. Or that I would say them in return-- _Tai zlen_, John. I love you, now, tomorrow, and always."

Did she pull him into her arms and lift her lips, or did he pull her and bend his head, or did they meet in the middle, in accord in one moment of perfect beauty?

Her lips were soft on his, slightly cool, and she smelled of candles, and incense, and something faintly apricot. Her body snuggled against his, as if made for him, slim and strong, while her hands slid up his back.

He started to pull back, but she held him to her, kissing him more insistently. Passion sparked between them, and their mouths opened to taste each other.

He wanted so badly to touch her, to touch all of her, to learn everything about giving her pleasure. But for now it was heaven, just to lose himself in her kiss, and forget that anything else existed.

His lips moved from hers, across the line of her jaw and the front of her small Minbari ear, stroking the tender skin at the base of her crest. A tremor wracked her body, but her hands were like iron on his shoulders, preventing him from moving.

"Like that?" he asked softly and kissed her there again.

"John..." His name was a sigh, as her body curved pliantly against his.

"Delenn." His lips returned to hers, unable to quench his thirst and desire for this woman with only one kiss. She seemed to feel the same, pressing her body against his and running her hands across his shoulders and back.

So lost in her, he didn't hear the door to the council room open. He didn't hear anything at all, until the sharp throat-clearing shattered the moment, and they sprang apart like guilty children.

He caught a glimpse of Delenn's flushed face as he turned. He then felt himself redden as well, seeing Lennier standing there.

Lennier bowed his head and said with unshakable calm, "Forgive the interruption, Ambassador, Captain. Ambassador, Anla'shok Stockton was most persistent in his inquiries about Entil'Zha, and I was not certain what report to give to him."

"Anla'shok Stockton?" Delenn repeated, as if she'd never heard the words before. Then her mind cleared and she said, "Oh, yes. Of course. His concern is... understandable."

She glanced aside and met Sheridan's gaze, and he smiled, knowing they were thinking the same thing. Stockton's concern was understandable, but inconvenient.

Delenn inhaled a calming breath. "I must allay his worries. John, I will see you in the morning."

On the spur of the moment he took her hand and lifted it to his lips gallantly. "Good night, Ambassador."

She cocked her head to the side slightly puzzled, but seemingly pleased by the gesture. "Good night."

He watched her leave and then looked around the empty war room. Despite the grim displays, he broke into a grin.

He was still smiling as he went back to his quarters for some sleep.

* * *

Sheridan and Delenn slept, contented that whatever happened, they would be together.

Sinclair was treated and then slept the heavy, dreamless sleep of the exhausted, watched over by Doctor Hobbs and by his Rangers.

Ivanova slept badly, waking with nightmares filled with her own voice begging for help and Marcus waving goodbye.

Garibaldi slept little, looking at the datacrystal on his table that taunted him with its taste of the future.

Lennier did not sleep at all.

And so passed the first night, and only seven days remained until the Shadows came.


	7. Chapter 7

"_Hindsight's always perfect -- but foresight? How could we know what was going to happen?..._"  
\---- Zack Allan, Recollections

John Sheridan looked up as the door opened and frowned slightly as an unfamiliar Ranger entered the war room. He had to be the mysterious Stockton, the "Eyes of Ranger One." He seemed a pleasant enough young man with an inconspicuous, bland appearance of short brown hair and brown eyes, tall without being too tall, and a not-unattractive face. Take away his Ranger garb and he was nondescript for a human, which no doubt made him an excellent spy.

Garibaldi was already crossing the floor to shake his hand. "Karl. Good to see you again."

"Michael. Good to be back." He nodded to Delenn formally. "Ambassador."

"Anla'shok Stockton," she smiled warmly at him. "Welcome. Who is at Medlab?"

"Deronn," Stockton answered. "He volunteered."

Garibaldi frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "What do you mean? At Medlab?"

Stockton explained, "Ambassador Delenn wanted a Ranger guarding Entil'Zha at all times while he is on the station. No reflection on station security, Michael, but Rangers protect their own."

Garibaldi shrugged. "Hey, I don't mind the help."

The captain moved forward, impatient to be introduced.

Stockton faced him, focusing his attention on the captain, who suddenly realized the Ranger wasn't so bland after all. The brown eyes were intent and focused, and those soft features hid a very sharp mind. "Captain Sheridan, I'm Karl Stockton of the Anla'shok. I'm glad to finally meet you."

They shook hands and Sheridan asked, smiling, "After avoiding me for the last year?"

Stockton shrugged. "Rangers generally have specific contacts, and station commanders tend to be conspicuous."

"I'm glad you're here. Though -- and please don't take this the wrong way -- I wish Marcus was here."

Stockton nodded sadly. "No more than I do, Captain."

Ivanova cleared her throat. "Do you really think the ambassador is in danger?"

"Commander," Stockton told her patiently. "Entil'Zha has only left Minbar twice since he arrived, because the Minbari believed his leaving would be an unacceptable risk to his safety."

"I bet he was climbing the walls," Ivanova murmured sympathetically, and Sheridan nodded agreement. He knew he would hate to be planet-bound more than a year, and Sheridan suspected that Sinclair, as a former Starfury pilot, would get even more terraphobic.

Stockton continued, "But even Minbar wasn't as safe as we had thought. Three months ago an assassin nearly killed Entil'Zha in Tuzanor itself."

"What?" Garibaldi demanded in shock. "How "nearly"?"

Reluctantly Stockton raised a hand, fingers and thumb only a little apart. "About this close. If it hadn't been for some warriors who spotted the sniper and pushed Entil'Zha out of the way, he'd be dead. We tightened security, and prevented another attempt four weeks ago."

"He didn't mention any of this to me," Garibaldi complained and hit the link on the back of his hand. "Garibaldi to Allan. Zack, I want guards on the ambassador round the clock."

"_You got it, Chief. Allan out_."

Garibaldi glanced at Stockton, smiling tightly. "We take care of our own on B5 too."

Sheridan thought of Sinclair, lying helplessly unconscious in Medlab, and of two assassination attempts, and didn't protest Garibaldi's action. When a known agent of the Shadows could get aboard the station apparently at whim -- anyone could get aboard.

G'Kar entered, completing the members of the council.

Sheridan moved to the conference table. "Time to get started." He remained standing as the other took their seats.

He took a look around the table at his council. Ivanova, watching him with that hard light of a warrior; Garibaldi, sprawled in his chair casually as if nothing mattered, but his blue eyes were measuring and sharp; Stockton, the only stranger of the group, but whose loyalties were unquestionable; G'Kar, a new addition that Sheridan already couldn't imagine being without; Lennier, sitting quietly beside Delenn, trying to pretend he wasn't there; and lastly, Delenn, a bastion of serenity and light in the midst of war and darkness -- he already could see the beauty of her new/old appearance, and no longer found it strange.

She smiled at him gently, meeting his gaze, and he realized he was wool-gathering.

He touched a control, and a gut-wrenching, slowly spinning image of a Shadowship formed above the middle of the table. He'd faced two of the things, and he wasn't looking forward to confronting more.

"We're not prepared for this," he admitted first, and their attention sharpened at the unexpected words. "We only have seven days until the Shadows attack us. We'd hoped that our mission to sector fourteen would change that, but it didn't work. While they don't seem to be heading here, I suspect it's just a feint. We know they'll be here, and that gives us an advantage. A slim one, I grant you, but it tells us where they're going to be and from what direction they have to come. Unfortunately, seven days is not enough time to put together a strong enough defense. We still have some damage from the assault by Clark's force earlier that's going to make it hard. An evacuation isn't the answer either -- we need the station if we're ever going to launch a counter-offensive, so letting it be destroyed isn't an option.

He hesitated, almost unable to believe he was going to say the words, and then said them anyway, "What we need is to attack."

Garibaldi snapped straight as if Sheridan had poked him with a pin, and Ivanova let slip a shocked, "What?" But G'Kar nodded once in understanding.

Silence from the Minbari/Ranger contingent, as they waited for the explanation. Even Stockton showed nothing of his surprise, merely watching Sheridan in reserved silence.

Sheridan continued, "It's really the only option. We've shown the other races that we have power; with them on board, we can raise a fleet. It doesn't have to be huge, since the point is not to actually win a victory. All we need is a distraction -- something to turn them away from the station.

"One thing Earth learned in the Minbari War," he cast an apologetic glance at Delenn, "is that a vastly superior force can't be directly fought. We lost a lot of people to head-on strategy, instead of guerrilla tactics. If we'd laid more mines, set more ambushes, we could have made the price higher."

"We would have exterminated you," Delenn murmured, not meeting his eyes. "You have seen how you are regarded, "Star Killer,"" she deliberately used the name the warrior caste used for him, "imagine that disdain a hundredfold for your people."

"Yeah," Garibaldi cut in, "but we would've taken more with us."

"That's not the point," Sheridan regained control of the meeting before it deteriorated into a rehash of the Earth-Minbari war. "My point is, hit-and-run tactics are the only ones we have. But they work. As we saw at Jupiter, the Shadow ships can be beaten, they can be destroyed, if we're smart. If we don't get trapped into thinking we're as powerful as they are, and use what we have instead.

"So let's figure out what we have. Give me a weapon," he turned his gaze on Ivanova.

"The _White Star_," she answered immediately. "They know we have it, but it still packs a punch for a little ship."

"Mr. Garibaldi?" Sheridan demanded.

"Telepaths. I don't know where we can get them, or how they work, but that Shadowship sure was put off by Bester. Then again, so are most people," he added, only half-joking. "Anyway we'd need to test."

The Ranger sat forward, glancing at Delenn for approval before he spoke. "We tested it already."

"And?" Sheridan demanded eagerly. This could be just the break they needed-- something to level the playing field at least a little.

"Oh, it works." No one missed Karl's intense shudder. "The damn thing got close enough to spit at. Three Minbari telepaths were able to hold the thing, or disrupt its connections, I'm not sure. Enough for us to pound it to dust."

"It does work," Sheridan tightened his hands into fists, as if holding invisible weapons.

"There's a cost," Stockton inserted hurriedly, and the captain turned cold. Karl continued somberly, "Two of them died of brain hemorrhaging. Apparently it's hideously difficult."

Lennier added, "However, the survivor reported that he could teach others how to attack the Shadowships more effectively to reduce the loss of life."

"How many can we have?" Sheridan demanded.

Lennier and Stockton exchanged a glance, and Karl's mouth twisted as if he swallowed old spoo. "None, captain. The survivor was killed before he could pass on what he learned."

"You let him get killed?" Garibaldi demanded in appalled outrage, springing to his feet to lean over the table and glare at the Ranger. "What kind of security do the Rangers have, Karl? First I find out an assassin nearly got to Sinclair _twice_, and now our only informant on Shadow fighting ends up dead."

Karl's brown eyes sharpened, grew flinty and cold. His placid reserve gave way to something much more dangerous, and though Karl didn't move, Garibaldi froze. "The Shadows took out his entire ship and his escort, Michael, in less time than it takes to say. One hundred sixteen people died in a futile attempt to protect him."

"So it works," Sheridan interjected quickly, and Garibaldi sat down again. "It has a high price, but it works. Another weapon, Mr. Stockton?"

"The Rangers," he lifted his head proudly. "We are trained to face the darkness, Captain. You have met only a few of us, but together we are an army."

Sheridan nodded thoughtfully. They were an army and their courage was unquestionable. But they were also a weapon to be wielded by one hand, and their devotion to their leader verged on the reverential. Any use of the Rangers as a weapon or an army would have to go through Sinclair first, which would somewhat limit their tactical value. "G'Kar?"

"A weapon," the Narn began thoughtfully. "We do not have the technology, but we have numbers if we join together. Each race has billions of members. Together, we could overwhelm the creatures of darkness. I would say that our weapon is our willingness to sacrifice ourselves so that others might live in freedom. Some, perhaps many, will die," his fierce gaze traveled the table, "perhaps all of us sitting here will die in the battles to come. But we know that our lives are as candles in a storm, as long as the light goes on. Our courage is our weapon."

"And our faith," Delenn added. "In a war such as this, the spirit may weaken, grow ill. It is difficult to continue when the consequence of any action is more death. Our faith will sustain us."

Faith and courage were certainly valuable, but not quite what he had been hoping for. Sheridan drew breath to speak, but she raised a hand. "You requested a weapon., and I am certain you meant of more practical help." She smiled faintly, and his cheeks felt warm. Was he that transparent?

She continued, "We have knowledge -- some of which we do not know that we know. Many of the races, including my own, had experiences with the Shadows in the last Great War. The Book of G'Quan has already been very helpful," she nodded in the direction of the Narn. "Who is to say what other information may lie inside stories and pictures from long ago that may be of use to us now? The Brakiri, who were minor allies in the last war, have a legend of a special weapon that could make the Shadows visible. My own histories speak of Valen's "hand of light" which could kill creatures of darkness. These are things which need to be re-discovered and used again."

Sheridan nodded thoughtfully. She was right. Legends usually had a kernel of truth to them somewhere, though the source had been lost long before. Of course, it helped that the Minbari had already been space-faring a thousand years before and so their stories were rather more technologically advanced than most.

"Good. Thank you. I think we all realize that we're stronger than we thought." He gestured toward the wallscreen. "Looking at that, it's easy to think that we're just little fish trapped in a small pond with a shark. But we have teeth." He moved to the screen, changing the image to bring up a view of Quadrant 23. "This is where we're going to prove it."

He'd spent several hours this morning looking at reports and maps, finding the best place. Quadrant 23 had four solar systems, including one supergiant that was marked as a hyperspace navigation hazard because of the immense gravitational pull. Not far away, a pulsar threw out energy enough to confuse any sensor at close range. Quadrant 23 was just galactic "north" of the direct path between the Shadows' last major fleet sighting and Babylon 5.

"Here," he pointed to a spot not far from the supergiant. "We lure the Shadows here with the White Star's distress. The pulsar and the giant will make it tough for anyone's sensors, so they won't know who's waiting for them. When they investigate, the giant's gravitational slant in hyperspace will force them into a predictable position in realspace, where we blast away, do damage, and jump out of there." There weren't exactly any cheers, so he decided to lighten the mood, "With any luck, the star will collapse into a black hole and take them all with it."

A few chuckles broke the grimness. He looked at his council as he returned to the table. There didn't seem to be any major objections. "Questions?"

G'Kar, as one might expect, was the first. "That is the Nazakhar border between the Drazi and the Abbai. How do you intend to handle the negotiations?"

Damn. The quadrant number had sounded vaguely familiar, but he hadn't remembered why. The Nazakhar border had been a flash point of difficult League relations for three decades, as the Drazi and Abbai fought skirmishes in the disputed space. Why anyone would want those barren, ancient stars and planets was a mystery to him, but they did.

Karl spoke, surprising them all, "I don't believe that will be a problem."

Sheridan shot him an inquiring look, and Karl smiled back, a bit mysteriously. "Both governments granted the Rangers free passage through that area for training purposes."

"That'll certainly make things easier as we gather the fleet," Sheridan nodded several times, thinking quickly. The Drazi support for the Rangers, though a bit strange and something he wanted to find out more about, would help negotiate for ships. The Abbai were less inclined than Drazi to join a battle just because there was a battle, but they would want to strike at the Shadows too.

Reflecting his thoughts, Ivanova said, "I think I can help with the Drazi, if they're resistant, which I doubt. I don't think Drazi ever see a fight they don't like. It'll be the Brakiri and the Gaim who will be tough to persuade."

"Ambassador She'lah will hear us," Delenn offered, "if you and I go together, Captain."

Sheridan noticed that Delenn wasn't promising the Gaim would actually deliver any ships. If they even had any. The Gaim weren't known as powerhouses of the League. They were an odd race, even odder than the Pak'ma'ra in some ways, and he hated that he could never get an inkling of what they were thinking, wrapped in their breathing masks and translators.

"What about telepaths?" Garibaldi asked and held up a hand defensively as Ivanova and Sheridan looked at him incredulously. "Look, I don't like 'em. But they're the big weapon we've got right now, if we can find any. I doubt any of us are real comfortable with the thought about contacting PsiCorps, however friendly Bester promised to be, so we gotta find some others."

"Lyta has connections to the underground, I'm sure," Ivanova reminded him.

"Excellent idea," Sheridan approved. "Michael, why don't you get her help? She's been very useful before."

Garibaldi looked rebellious for just one instant. No matter how valuable an ally Lyta Alexander was, he didn't like or trust telepaths. But he finally acceded to the request and nodded once.

The captain glanced back to the screen. The Shadows shouldn't be in Quadrant 23, but he couldn't assume that. He faced Delenn. "Last thing. I want to send the _White Star_ to scout the ambush site. There's no point planning all this if the Shadows already have a presence there. But we need a Ranger to command it, since none of us can go."

Delenn exchanged a glance with Stockton, who answered the silent inquiry, "Tomita, I think. Deronn and Inesval will stay here."

She nodded sharply in agreement. "I will dispatch the ship as soon as we are finished here."

"Good. We're almost done." Sheridan leaned forward, putting his hands flat on the table and looking at each one in turn. "Commander, you'll speak to the Drazi. Take Mr. Stockton if you need to remind them of their agreement with the Rangers. The rest of us need to negotiate some ships from our allies." He took one fortifying breath. "Let's do it, people."

* * *

Delenn knew all that had to be done, but for the moment she was content to watch John. He was in his element, discussing the details of his plan with G'Kar. So strong, so fierce...

Strange, that she, former Satai of the religious caste, should feel so strongly about a member of another race's warrior caste. But she thought she would be happy just to be able to look at John the rest of her life.

She remembered the feel of his lips on hers, and a tingly warmth rushed through her body. John didn't know it, but to Minbari a kiss was the tenth ritual of marriage, an intimacy only for the bedroom between mates, after the _shon'fal_...

Humans were always doing things too quickly, and out of the proper order.

"Penny for your thoughts, Ambassador?" His low voice, so close to her, made her start with embarrassment to have been caught in a reverie. She raised her head to see John there, watching her.

G'Kar and Garibaldi had left, and Ivanova and Stockton were conferring by the wall terminal, leaving her and John momentarily alone.

"A penny?" she asked as a reflex, to hide any reflections of where her thoughts had been straying. She knew what a penny was -- Talia Winters had explained it to her several years ago.

"What are you thinking about?" John restated patiently. "You were smiling."

His eyes reflected his soul, strong but gentle, and under his gaze, she couldn't find it in herself to dissemble. "I was thinking of you."

His face flushed, but he looked pleased. "You were?"

She nodded. "Come to my quarters tonight," she invited softly. "We have," she hesitated, trying to remember the phrase, "unfinished business."

His eyes flared wide in surprise, and his mouth opened, without any sound, as if her words had stunned him speechless.

Her poor John -- he had so much to learn about Minbari.

She rose to her feet and touched his hand. "But that is for later. I must contact my government and bring us ships. Contact me when you are prepared to meet with Ambassador She'lah."

She left him, Lennier trailing behind her. On the second level, she turned back to look down at him and found he was still watching her.

There was much to do between now and tonight. Several hours of negotiations lay ahead.

Yet she could not begrudge the work, when such a reward lay at the end of the day.

* * *

_NOTE: The story was abandoned at this point several years ago. I still have a lot of the epic which follows, but in a very fragmentary state. I would love to promise I'll finish it, but at this point, no one would believe me, even if I did._


End file.
